


love: found or made?

by exactlyemma



Category: Firebringer - Team StarKid
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Friends to Lovers, I think?, Minor Character Death, OC characters, because i needed more characters than there are tribe members, i got a house writing prompt and this is what i came up with, im only gonna tag a character if they physically show up, its definitely not set in modern day, no oc's are centric characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27669971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exactlyemma/pseuds/exactlyemma
Summary: In the winter, the house is barren, not even the fireplace is enough to keep out the chill. In spring, it gets better. The flowers start to bloom, and the weather gets a little warmer. Summer is the best. The days are long and hot; perfect lake weather. Fall is nice, too. The air is full of the sweet scent of the apples that are now ripe in the orchards. Every day of the year, Elizabeth Kane lives in the house, alone and feeling forgotten. The house isn't big enough for Elizabeth and her endless curiosity, but when she meets Jemilla, she starts finding more answers than she anticipated.
Relationships: Jemilla & Zazzalil (Firebringer), Jemilla/Zazzalil (Firebringer)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 29





	1. winter I

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this WHOLE FIC with zazz's last name being bennett and. it somehow didn't occur to me until i was writing the summary for this that she's a whole ass pride and prejudice character?? so yeah i've been beaten to the punch on naming characters elizabeth bennet so um i changed her last name this isn't a pride and prejudice fic i'm simply puzzled at how i managed to write this whole thing without noticing. sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: this is one of the chapters the death warning is for heads up. there's no graphic descriptions, just some blood. and, you know, childbirth.

The house was formidable in daylight. The gardens were overflowing with flowers in the summer, which it wasn’t. It was more barren in the winter. It was too early in winter for snow to be covering the ground, but walking outside the air smelled of it. Ice crunched beneath the feet of the doctor as she rushed inside, the engine of her car still running in the circle driveway. The porch was wet from the falling rain, the swing creaking like mad in the wind. The wind chimes hung up from all of the many hooks nailed into the wood ceiling were chiming angrily. The sound of thunder and pounding rain nearly drowned out the sounds of the pained screams from within the house.

The pained screams were well within reason. It wasn’t everyday a person had to push another out of their body. The doctor was a help, of course, but when families as stubborn as the Kane’s refused to have their child in the hospital, it was an added challenge to say the least. They had their reasons, of course. Families as rich as the Kane’s had a reason for everything they did. It was a trend among the wealthy for their children to be born out of hospitals. Anyone who could afford it (monetarily and health-wise) preferred to have their children out of the hospital. It was a catch in the clause, one quite annoying for those who wished to measure the time in which their child was born.

Thomas Kane clutched the pen and the pocket watch in one hand, his other hand being crushed by his laboring wife. Their wrists both had a mark in the shape of a little flame. Soulmates. 

“You’re doing brilliantly,” he said, fumbling for the leather bound notebook with the name for their daughter printed across the front. His normally neatly curled hair was hanging before his face in waves. Sweat dotted his forehead, the fire roaring in the fireplace. 

The doctor’s jacket was dumped by the door with all of her other things. The door was still cracked, the occasional rain drop landing inside. “She’s almost here,” the doctor coached.

Annabel let out another scream, her face contorted from the effort and the pain. “Thomas.” Her voice was hoarse from all the shouting. “The book?”

Thomas flipped open the pocket watch. “Right here.”

Annabel exhaled heavily, a smile stretched across her lips. “Good.”

It was rather inconvenient that the safest place in the world to have a child was also the one place in the world where time couldn’t be told. Difficult, when what time of day one was born was the biggest indicator to whether or not a soulmate bond could be formed.

A few more minutes, some more shouting, coaching, and pushing was all it took for a fourth person to enter the room.

“It’s a girl,” the doctor said, breathless. She was stating the obvious, but it was a reassuring statement nonetheless to the new parents. “A healthy girl.”

The doctor handed off the baby to Annabel, who cradled and shushed the crying infant. “Thomas, did you get it?” Her eyes never left the baby.

The new father was scribbling away into the notebook. “Twelve on the dot, my love.”

Annabel smiled. “Good. We’ll have to tell the hospital.”

“Of course.” Thomas pressed a kiss onto his wife’s forehead and then, with less certainty, onto his daughter’s. Then he walked into the kitchen to make his phone call to the hospital. Soulmates was serious business, after all, and since time passed differently in the hospital, a response could come at any time.

“She’s beautiful,” the mother said, stroking the tiny hairs on her daughter’s head as the baby calmed under her hands.

The doctor smiled. This was the best part of her job. “She is. You did wonderfully, Miss Kane.”

The mother was transfixed on the child. “Elizabeth.”

“It’s a wonderful name.”

The mother’s smile turned hard. “Yes. It is.” 

The doctor cleared her throat and looked the other way. Perhaps she had overstepped. “Miss Kane, whenever you’re ready, you should get some rest and I should look her over, do a quick check in, make sure nothing’s wrong.”

The mother frowned. “Why would anything be wrong? Nothing’s wrong.”

“I don’t think that anything’s wrong, but I should check, otherwise I wouldn’t be doing my job properly.”

The baby let out a cry, and the mother held her closer. Her eyes shut in pain. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Mrs. Kane, is something wrong?” The doctor hurried forward, checking the mother’s pulse, going through all the standards. Nothing appeared to be different. Then she saw it. _Oh no_. “Mr. Kane," she called. "Here. _Now_.”

The father walked back into the room, a frown on his face. “What?”

The doctor pursed her lips. “I’m so sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”

His face fell. He rushed to his wife’s side. “What’s wrong? Is it the baby?”

The doctor only shook her head.

The mother took a shaky breath. “Still hurts,” she murmured, wriggling on the cot. The white sheet was beginning to soak through with blood. Blood that was still flowing.

“Annabel,” the father’s voice cracked. “No. No, this can’t be happening.”

The baby began to cry again. Perhaps the mother’s grip loosened or tightened just enough. Perhaps she could sense that her mother was dying.

She died peacefully, murmuring something about love and Elizabeth. The father was the one who caused the chaos. The doctor took the baby from her dead mother’s arms, kicking and screaming, when it became clear that the father had no intention to do it himself. He was leaning over the corpse, clutching her wrist with the little flame on it and sobbing into his wife’s shirt.

The doctor left when the father’s parents arrived. She left just slow enough to see the confusion spreading across their faces. She left before they could ask why the sounds of the father sobbing were echoing through the house. She told them the baby was in her crib upstairs and left, with no shame in admitting it was the cowardly move.

The drive back to the hospital was long. The tears started flowing down her cheeks before she even registered that she was crying. The doctor cried all the way back to the hospital, only drying her tears once she was parked outside the entrance.

It had been a slow night. Caroline stared into her desk, sorting away the seemingly endless mountain of files and checking the shaky security cameras every now and then. Nobody had walked through the door in hours, so it seemed. The clock that was, for some reason embedded into her desk hadn’t worked for all of the three years she’d been employed behind that front desk at the hospital. She suspected it hadn’t worked for as long as the building had been a hospital. She had no idea what it had been before. Somewhere time passed properly, she supposed.

Regardless, the door opening was the most exciting thing to happen her whole shift.

“Hey, Pipes!” she said, familiar with the doctor who walked inside. “What’s goin’ on?”

Piper pulled her ID out of her pocket and put it down on the desk, patting her face dry. “Long night,” she muttered. “Delivered a baby. Dead mom.”

Caroline wrinkled her nose as she read over the ID. Those were always rough, she could say with some certainty as nothing but a secretary. “Ouch. We had one of those last night, too. Laboring mom came in, delivered, and _bam_ , gone. We can’t find any other family, either.” Her tone took on a more appropriate sad tone. “We’ll have to send her to the orphanage if we can’t find anyone within the next day.”

Piper stood up straighter. “Caroline, do you… do you by any chance know what time that baby was born?”

Caroline shrugged. “You know how it is here. The mom said it was around…” she opened up the file. “Eleven when she came inside.” She frowned. “Why?”

Piper’s eyes widened. “I need to call Mr. Kane.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's not usually so oc centric i promise. zazz won't be a baby next chapter either. the chapters are in order, but there's a few years between each of them if that makes sense? each chapter is kinda like an update on where they're at. number of chapters probably isn't subject to change? i have this whole thing plotted out so we'll see if i messed it up or not. there's also a chance i'll write another chapter for it because there's something very unsatisfying to me about eleven chapters. chapters don't get much longer than this but they don't get much shorter either. i tried to make them all at least 1000 words, some are closer to 2000 though.
> 
> thank you for reading! :)


	2. spring I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> springtime, questions, and keeri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've decided that caroline and piper from chapter one ARE dating thanks. will be taking NO criticism on them at this point in time.
> 
> i apologize if my portrayal of the way a four-year-old would speak isn't super accurate, i did my best with limited knowledge to a four-year-old's vocabulary and ability to put together sentences.

The house was usually more formidable in any season that wasn’t winter, when all the leaves weren’t on the trees, and it would have resembled a haunted mansion if it weren’t for the strings of lights put up. Spring was usually one of the happiest times in the house. It was warm enough to go outside, and all the flowers were beginning to bloom. Each year that passed after the passing of Annabel Kane, it felt a little more appropriate to celebrate the end of winter. The house’s two residents didn’t have much to miss, and only one of them was old enough to understand the concept, and to know to mourn. 

In the years following her death, the porch swing grew dusty from being out of use. The wind chimes were taken down, leaving the house's inhabitants to feel nothing but lonely on windy days.

The leatherbound book was filled with information. First words, first foods, firsts, firsts, _firsts_. There was even trimmings of hair from the little girl’s first haircut. The books were customary among high class families. It was a nice, steadying task for new parents, and it made an excellent memento when the children were old enough. People were sometimes buried with their books. Sometimes their children kept them, as another way to remember them by. The owner of the book usually decided. There were some books in the library of the same nature, filled with notes about famous townspeople when they were young. 

The Kanes were no different. They filled out their book, determined to have it ready for their little angel once she was ready. There was only one complication. It was often a job completed by the mother. She was dead. It wasn’t considered bad for the father to do it. The complication fell with the father’s unwillingness to get close enough to his daughter, too frightened of how much she resembled her mother. Therefore the duty fell on the poor nanny, who was more parent than the child’s father.  
Elizabeth Kane was four years old, and she had a lot of questions about life.

Her first question was: why was she named Elizabeth? It wasn’t a good name. It didn’t fit her. Too fancy. She didn’t feel very fancy. Keeri told her lots of other little girls were also named Elizabeth. It was supposed to make her feel better, but if anything, it made her sadder. She didn’t want to share a name with those little girls. 

Her main problem with it was that it didn’t suit her. It didn’t sound right in her mouth, plus it was long and hard to pronounce. Keeri said that there were lots of nicknames for Elizabeth, which was probably why the name was as popular as it was. Keeri said a nickname was what someone was called for short. If that was the case, there were lots of nicknames for Elizabeth. Liz. Lizzie. Eliza. _Beth_. The list was endless, and Elizabeth didn’t like any of them.

She let Keeri call her Lizzie anyway, because she disliked it the least and Keeri said she had to call her something. Lizzie liked Keeri. She never left. She was home all the time, unlike her father, who wasn’t usually home, and, when he was, seemed to prefer being in any room that didn’t have Lizzie in it.

Keeri said she looked a lot like her mother, and it made her father sad. Lizzie said that was stupid. Keeri had nothing to say in response to that.

“What’re soulmates?” she asked, spinning a piece of grass between her fingers. Her and Keeri were sitting outside on a blanket, because Keeri said it was finally nice enough outside to play.

“Where’d you hear that?” Keeri said, stricken.

Lizzie shrugged. “Everywhere.”

Keeri frowned. “Your father doesn’t like talking about those.”

“I do.”

She sighed. “Fine. A soulmate is someone you’re meant to love. They’re like… they’re like your missing piece.”

Lizzie put her head in Keeri’s lap. “Like me and you?”

Keeri laughed. “Not exactly. Soulmates are usually romantic partners.”

“What’s romantic?” Lizzie hummed as she asked it, kicking her legs in the air.

“Romantic. Hmm.” Keeri thought awhile, sighing dramatically. “People who are romantic with each other love each other.”

Lizzie frowned. “Like me and you.”

“ _No_.” Keeri nearly laughed again, but resisted for the child’s sake. “They love each other as more than friends.”

“Oh.” Lizzie sat up, wrinkling her nose at the thought that she’d compared herself and Keeri to romance. “Like Grant and Embly.”

Grunt and Emberly ran the bakery downtown, which was one of Lizzie’s favorite places. It was actually a good example, though. They were literal soulmates, after all. It was the first time Keeri was thankful that the couple were so lovey in all of their daily activities.

“Exactly like Grant and Embly. Good job.”

Lizzie bounced on her feet, pleased with herself. Then she had another thought. 

“Are you my mommy?” Her fingers dug through the grass, emerging with a clover held between them.

If Keeri had been drinking water, she’d have choked on it. “No,” she said eventually. “I’m not.”

“Do I have one?”

It appeared to be a genuine question. Lizzie appeared none the wiser, and was reaching through the grass, gathering a bouquet of clovers.

Keeri sighed. She had to find out at some point, four was as good an age as any. “You did have one once,” she said gently. “She passed away. She’s in a better place now.”

Lizzie processed that. Focused harder on the grass. “Is that why daddy’s sad all the time?” 

Keeri couldn’t exactly deny that. “Yes. Your parents were soulmates, you know. It was hard on him, losing your mom.”

“That’s why he doesn’t like me?”

The words were put so bluntly. Lizzie’s fingers didn’t even twitch in her clover hunt.

“He doesn’t dislike you,” Keeri immediately reassured.

“He’s never home,” Lizzie argued. “He doesn’t.”

“He loves you very much,” Keeri promised, gathering the little girl in her arms, making Lizzie giggle.

“Can you be my mommy?”

Keeri smiled, and put Lizzie back on her feet. “I wish, Zazz.”

Lizzie paused in her renewed hunt for clover. “What?”

“I said I wished I could be your mommy,” Keeri said, happy to clarify.

“No.”

“No?”

“What’d you call me?”

“Zazz.” It had flowed off her tongue naturally. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“-No.” Lizzie smiled. “I like it.” She plucked a clover out of the grass and presented it to Keeri. “Again.”

Keeri grinned. “Zazz.”

Zazz giggled.

Keeri granted her a few minutes more for clover-hunting, mollified by the small plant that she held cupped in her hands, glancing at it every now and then as though it might disappear. The afternoon was getting old, though. “Come on, now, Zazz. Lunchtime.”

Zazz ran about the yard, shouting the praises of lunchtime while Keeri folded up their blanket. So maybe things could have been better. Whatever the case, Keeri was just glad they weren’t worse.

She made a note in the leatherbound book that night. The entries got less frequent as the child aged, this was the first in several months, the previous being when she first got on a bicycle. The words were printed neatly in Keeri’s tight script.

_Chose new nickname: Zazz._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jemilla content is on the horizon. 
> 
> life is really just happening to me. huh.
> 
> thank you for reading! :)


	3. summer I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the queen is here. i repeat the queen is HERE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uh i wrote a twelfth chapter because it occurred to me that there's four seasons so if i do twelve seasons i can do three chapters for each season and that's too good a chance to pass up

The house was at its best in summer. Thomas Kane finally cracked and had it repainted green. He couldn’t bear to look at it any longer and see the old blue paint his wife had so loved. The flowers were in full bloom, leaving the gardener busy. Thomas wouldn’t let his daughter pick any of the flowers, despite her asking again and again. He forbade the gardener from teaching her the proper way to do it with clippers. The flowers, their scent and their bright colors reminded him too much of the past. Of the faded flame mark on his wrist that nobody ever dared to mention to him. They knew what the fade meant as well as he did, and it had something to do with the circles that were always under his eyes.

“Elizabeth, come downstairs. She’ll be here soon,” Thomas called up the stairs to his daughter.

She emerged from her room, picking at her stockings and frowning. “I told you, dad. It’s Zazz.” She had been forced into a dress and shiny black shoes that pinched her feet. Her father had them delivered for her birthday that last winter. It was better than him actually being there, she’d reasoned. All she really wanted was Keeri and her cooking, and she’d gotten that. It had been a good birthday.

Thomas knocked imaginary dust off her shoulders when she reached the bottom of the stairs, observing her unruly hair, which Keeri had attempted to tame with a bow pulling the top of it back. He pursed his lips. “That’ll do, Elizabeth. Come now, I want you downstairs when the girl gets here. You’ll be on your best behavior, yes?”

Zazz walked onto the porch, shoulders sagged. “You’re here, dad. I already am.” She leaned on the railing, watching butterflies flutter around the flowers. Normally she’d have tried to chase them, but her father didn’t like her running in the yard, especially in her nice shoes.

The girl her father was speaking of was an orphan he’d invited to spend the week with them. She couldn’t figure out why. He disliked Zazz, she couldn’t understand why he’d want another. He kept saying that they might have been born around the same time. She didn’t see how that was relevant. When she asked Keeri, she said seven was too young. It was an aggravating process.

When her father put a hand down on her shoulder, she wanted to shrug it off. She didn’t. It wouldn’t be seen as a very good _daughterly move_ , and her father seemed to be obsessed with her being a good daughter. If quiet was what a good daughter was, Zazz was willing to submit herself to a week of silence.

Enough time had passed with no sign of anything that Zazz was beginning to wonder if there was a girl at all, when a car appeared reaching the top of the hill at the entrance to the Kane property. Thomas squeezed her shoulder.

“That’ll be her. Be good.”

Zazz bit down on her tongue to keep from making a smart comeback. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on the little black car, watching it dip in and out of sight as it rounded the hills. It got a little bigger as it slowly approached the house. When it finally pulled around to the driveway, two doors opened. A small girl got out of the backseat, curly hair framing her face, and a backpack on her shoulders. A woman with a pinched face got out of the driver’s seat, putting an arm over the girl’s shoulder. The girl shuddered in a way that Zazz imagined was similar to her reaction when her father put his hand on her shoulder.

Zazz’s father walked down the steps of the porch to the ground to greet them. “Mrs. Sheila,” Thomas said, shaking the woman’s hand. She smiled generously. “Thank you for your cooperation."

“It’s my pleasure, really,” the woman said, her voice dripping with insincerity. “Imagine my surprise when I hear that _Thomas Kane_ called for one of our girls! I could hardly believe it.” Mrs. Sheila turned to the girl underneath her with a look of distaste. “This is Jemilla. Say hello, dear, good manners."

The girl held out a hand, which Thomas shook, albeit hesitantly. “Hello,” she said, her voice soft. “Your house is lovely.”

Thomas laughed. It was maybe the first time Zazz had heard her father laugh. “Thank you.” He looked back up the stairs and raised his eyebrows at Zazz. “This is my daughter.”

Zazz hurried down the steps. She was preparing to offer Jemilla her hand, but the girl launched herself at Zazz. This was what Keeri called a hug. Zazz elected to return it, wrapping her arms around Jemilla.

“Hi,” she said into Jemilla’s ear. “I’m Elizabeth, but if you ever call me that I’ll have to kill you.”

Jemilla let her go, smiling. “Hi, Eliza…” she realized her mistake and trailed off. “Uh…”

Zazz blinked. “Oh, right. You can call me Zazz.”

“Zazz,” Jemilla repeated. Her smile returned. “Perfect.”

Zazz smiled for the first time since her father’s return. Her father led Mrs. Sheila and Jemilla inside. Their hands brushed together walking inside, and Jemilla grabbed on. Zazz was surprised, but couldn’t bring herself to let go. It felt kind of nice. So she held on, too.

Thomas led Mrs. Sheila into the kitchen and shooed Jemilla and Zazz away, muttering something about paperwork, so Zazz brought Jemilla upstairs. She was excited to show off her room. Her and Keeri had spent all the previous week preparing her room to have enough room for two people. Two small people, but two people nonetheless.

They’d gotten a whole ‘nother bed to accommodate Jemilla’s arrival. Zazz had agreed to move her things to one side of the room, leaving a dresser and a bed for Jemilla. She left some of her things on the wall, since Keeri said she might not have things to put on them. She didn’t want Jemilla to feel bad because she didn’t have things on her walls.

“Wanna see our room?” She asked, leading Jemilla up the stairs.

Jemilla only nodded, her eyes wide. They got wider when she saw the room. “Woah,” she breathed. “This is your room?”

Zazz jumped down onto her bed. “Our room as long as you’re here.” She nodded across the room toward the other bed. “That’s for you.”

“For _me_?”

Zazz smiled. “Yeah. Is blue okay for the sheets? Keeri didn't know what your favorite color is.”

Jemilla ran a hand along the sheets. “This is good,” she whispered.

“Good.” Zazz leaned back on her bed, relieved. She had been worried about those sheets. She didn’t want them to be her downfall.

Jemilla laid down on her bed, imitating Zazz’s position. It was a good day.

Jemilla’s visit was only meant to last a week. Thomas’s visit was over halfway through Jemilla’s, and he left. Four days with just Zazz and Keeri was much more fun. Less rules, less shouting. Less sounds of smashing glass and ignoring Zazz’s painfully obvious flinching.

When the week was over, Zazz and Jemilla had a demand. Or, more accurately, Zazz had a demand. Jemilla had a dream. She didn’t want to leave. Keeri didn’t say no. She sent a letter to Thomas. Even if he said no, they had the week it took him to get the letter and for them to get his response. That week was less fun. It was more full of anticipation and worry.

Zazz promised that she’d run away with Jemilla if he said no. The gesture was appreciated, but Jemilla told her it was better if she stayed.

Then his response came. And he said _yes_. Jemilla could stay.

The weeks that followed were better still. Zazz had a friend to play with her, to answer her questions. Jemilla had a home, and a _real friend_. That summer was a good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jemilla's here to stay!!
> 
> thank you for reading :)


	4. autumn I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jemilla and zazz sneak outside to better admire the stars (NOT one another. never haha).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today i give you a slightly shorter chapter in exchange for fluff. just kidding it's not all fluff because. drama!!! but, i mean, they're stargazing how angsty can it get?

The house was especially striking in autumn. When all the trees turned red and orange, leaving the green house to contrast. The ground was covered in leaves, ensuring that the gardener was always busy. The sweet scent of ripened apples in the orchard drifted toward the house every now and then, leaving whoever was lucky enough to get a whiff of the smell. Two harshly carved pumpkins were placed outside. Upon the first was carved a crude image of the stereotypical scary jack o'lantern. The second was smiling with crooked eyes. There was a third, upon which a bird was nicely carved. 

“Zazz sounds like it should be short for something, you know,” Jemilla said, her eyes on the stars. It was getting colder at night, but they hadn’t brought sleeping bags for no reason.

“I already told you.” Zazz shifted her head on her leaf pillow. “It’s short for Elizabeth, but I’ll have to kill you if you ever call me that.”

Jemilla rolled her eyes. “You did already tell me that. I mean that Zazz sounds like the start of a different name.”

Zazz settled her head back down on her pillow, her eyes also on the sky. “Oh.” She pulled her sleeping bag up to her chin. “D’you have anything in mind?”

“Dunno.” Jemilla shrugged. “It’s a bit of a work in progress, but I’ve got one.”

Zazz looked at Jemilla expectantly. “What is it?”

“It’s just my first idea, I can come up with more,” she said, flushing. “But it’s Zazzalil.”

“Zazzalil.” Zazz tried it on for size. “That’s nice, Jem. I like it.”

Jemilla beamed at the approval. Zazz smiled right back. Something in her stomach squirmed, and she suddenly felt strange about the eye contact and looked back at the stars. It was what they had snuck out to see, after all. The stars in the sky, not the stars reflected in Zazz’s eyes. Admire the sky, not her best friend. It wasn’t an easy task, to be a ‘rebellious’ ten year old.

“You ever wonder what it’s like?” Zazz’s eyes were locked on the sky, full of wonder. Jemilla could see the reflections of the stars in her eyes. The sight was transfixing. “Being up there in space. Surrounded by stars. The planet from so far away.”

Jemilla looked back up at them. “No. I hadn’t.” A familiar smile crossed her lips. “That’s why we’re a good pair. You imagine stuff, I’m the voice of reason.”

Zazz smirked, playing along. “Is the voice of reason going to tell me to get my head out of the clouds?”

“Not clouds,” Jemilla said, smiling. “Stars.”

Zazz sighed. “ _Stars_."

There was something about the expression on her face. It made Jemilla sorry for looking, and she turned away, twisting a stray leaf in her hand. “Have you ever heard of soulmates?” She asked softly, determined to talk about something to distract herself from Zazz.

Zazz’s expression darkened. “Yes.”

Jemilla sat up, eager to hear what she knew. “What’d you hear?”

“My parents were soulmates,” she said, watching Jemilla. “Then my mom died. Keeri says that’s why he’s so sad all the time. He misses her. Keeri says he was different before she died.” Jemilla finally put a finger on the word for Zazz’s tone. _Bitter_. “I wouldn’t know.”

She didn’t have to ask who he was. Jemilla was a light sleeper. She heard Zazz wake up in the night sometimes, crying about her father and running for Keeri. Of course she had to go and pick at the scab.

“That’s not your fault, Zazz.”

Zazz took a long breath. “It’s Zazzalil now.”

Jemilla recognized the deflection and frowned, but let it pass. Zazzalil could talk about her traumas as she saw fit. “Sorry, _Zazzalil_.”

Zazzalil glanced from Jemilla and back at the sky, smirking. “Uh-huh.”

Jemilla let the silence simmer for a while. But she was ten, and she was eager to share. “Do you know what I heard about soulmates?”

Zazzalil sat up beside Jemilla, matching her position. “What?”

“I heard,” Jemilla whispered, echoing the many rumors she’d heard in her days at the orphanage from the older kids. “That soulmates aren’t found. They’re made. That nobody is born with another in mind, but the people you meet shape you.”

Zazzalil absorbed that. “That’s nice,” she said eventually. Then, “Do you think I have a soulmate?”

Jemilla thought about it. “I think you could make one, if it's true that soulmates aren’t found. If you got to know someone well enough, if you loved them and they loved you back.”

Zazzalil nodded. “That’s really nice.” She shivered in her sleeping bag.

“Do you want to go inside?” Jemilla asked, noticing immediately.

“I’m fine,” Zazzalil said, shrugging it off. “It’s nice out here.”

“It’s also nice inside. And heated.” Jemilla climbed out of her sleeping bag and helped Zazzalil do the same. They gripped hands for the intense action of removing Zazzalil from her sleeping bag. Then they were walking back into the house, and Zazzalil didn’t let go. Jemilla’s heart was beating very fast, and she couldn’t understand why. She couldn’t bring herself to let go, either, though, so she held Zazzalil’s hand all the way up until they parted their ways to lie in their separate beds.

Jemilla hadn’t realized how cold she was herself until her warm blankets enveloped her. She nestled into them, watching as Zazzalil did the same.

“That was fun,” Zazzalil said, once they were both warmer.

She smiled. “Yeah. that was fun.”

Zazzalil fell asleep soon after that. Jemilla watched as her eyes fluttered shut, as her breathing evened out, her chest rising and falling in a familiar pattern. There was a feeling in her stomach. Like a pigeon had gotten loose and tried to fly away whenever she looked at Zazzalil. It wasn’t overall unpleasant, although she wasn’t sure if she liked it. In fact, it felt kind of nice. It was scary, though. Jemilla didn’t understand what it meant.

She didn’t sleep well that night, trying to puzzle what the feeling was. She fell asleep eventually, dreaming about birds and Zazzalil. She forgot the feeling the next morning, only sparing the time to notice that even though the sun was up, she could still see stars in Zazzalil’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my cat is sitting on me while i write this and i hope this made you feel something close to the pure delight i am feeling rn
> 
> thank you for reading :)


	5. winter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> full circle one! it's somebody's biiiirrrthdaaaayy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today i offer more fluff !

The house became a bunker in winter. Snow was heavy that year, discouraging the three inhabitants from leaving, not that any of them really wanted to anyway. The fireplace was constantly burning, the gardener mostly employed over the winter to shovel the driveway so that the wood could be delivered. Multiple layers at all times were a necessity.

It wasn’t all bad, though. Zazzalil’s birthday was in winter, for example.

“I’m not that mad,” she said, shoving the letter into the bottom of her desk drawer. “I’d honestly rather be here without him. I just wish he’d admit he’s not coming instead of constantly promising to come and then bailing last minute.”

She had just received the letter confirming her suspicions. Her father was not, in fact, taking a break from work for her fourteenth birthday. No, he’d rather attend all his miserable work meetings than go home for his only daughter’s birthday.

“He’s pathetic,” Jemilla said, seething. 

“It’s okay, really.” Zazzalil put the unopened package from her father under her bed. “I’d rather celebrate without him.”

Jemilla knew this was true. “I know,” she sighed. “I’m just tired of him bailing. I had anxiety for him all week, only to learn he’s not actually coming.”

Zazzalil laughed, too sad of a laugh for her birthday. “I feel that.”

“I kinda wish he were here, just so I can smack him.”

“I’ll hold him down.”

“You girls aren’t talking about smacking Thomas again, are you? He’s a very busy man.” Keeri knocked on the door, standing in the doorway to their room.

“No,” Zazzalil lied. “We weren’t.”

“We weren’t,” Jemilla agreed. “We were talking about… how we want to go outside and play in the snow.” It had indeed snowed the night before, long and heavy. 

Keeri didn’t look convinced. “You haven’t done that since you were ten.”

When they were ten, they had done it to get away from Thomas. It was the most recent time he’d visited for Zazzalil’s birthday. They had both hated it.

“Well, we’re fourteen now, and we wanna build a snowman,” Jemilla said.

“Yeah,” Zazzalil said, committing to the lie. “Do we have any carrots?”

They did not have any carrots. A remnant from the fire would have to do, along as for the eyes and buttons. Jemilla and Zazzalil put on their outdoor layers, half regretting their decision by the time they were half dressed. Snow attire had a lot of heavy requirements so as not to freeze. Perhaps they should have stuck to sneaking outside in autumn, watching the stars and staying in their sleeping bags.

But it was too late, as Keeri kicked them outside with an extra hat and scarf for their snowman, along with the handful of coal.

As it turned out, the snow from the previous night’s blizzard was good building snow. Heavy, but not too heavy, and wet enough that it clung together nicely. 

Jemilla and Zazzalil loved each other. They really did. They were inseparable, and as good friends as two people could be. They were also very different people. One trait they did have in common was their sense of competition. And a need to win.

“I bet I can make my snowman taller than yours,” Jemilla said, putting the hat, scarf, and coal down on the porch steps.

Zazzalil scowled. “Unfair height advantage. I bet I can make mine faster.”

“Yeah. ‘Cause it’ll be _smaller_.”

Zazzalil began rolling a ball of snow. “This is my head start.”

Jemilla realized she was right, and quickly began rolling her own snowman body.

They’d intended to make snowmen. They really had. It was what their lie relied on, and it wasn’t a bad thing to make as far as snow creations went. It was just… they were competitive people. And Zazzalil liked throwing things. And she got bored quickly. 

It was a bit generous to say that her head slipped halfway through making it, but that was what Zazzalil claimed. It slipped out of her hands and right into Jemilla’s back. It turned out she also had excellent aim.

Zazzalil was really asking for it. Jemilla turned around and launched her half constructed head at Zazzalil, who darted behind her snowman’s body for cover.

It was the start of an epic battle.

Zazzalil prepared behind her snowman, making snowballs faster than she could count them while Jemilla pelted the front of her snowman with snow. She waited patiently. She waited until Jemilla ran out of snow, and paused to restock. Then Zazzalil attacked.

She leapt out from behind her snowman, pockets filled with snowballs that her arms couldn’t clutch. She threw them at Jemilla, her arms flying non-stop as she threw and threw until she ran out. When she stopped, she saw Jemilla, standing in front of her, face pink and snowy, breathing heavily. Snow was in her hair, and Zazzalil watched some of it trickle down her coat. She could feel it in her own bra, and wasn’t particularly sympathetic.

“I win!” She cried, dancing about as best she could in her snow attire.

That was when Jemilla pounced. She didn’t even use snow. She simply snapped, jumping onto Zazzalil and knocking her to the ground. After that, it was a free for all.

Jemilla and Zazzalil rolled around the yard, tumbling this way and that as they fought, each trying to shovel snow down the other’s back. Both of them were beaming. It was madness. Zazzalil couldn’t tell which way was up.

It ended when Jemilla’s back hit a tree. They froze, both of them breathing heavily, grinning through the snow on their eyelashes. It occurred to Zazzalil that she was up. She was straddling Jemilla, one hand on her chest, which was rapidly rising and falling. Some of her hair had fallen out of her hat, and there were bits of snow in it. Zazzalil could see Jemilla calculating the intention as her lips parted. A small puff of air left Jemilla’s mouth. Zazzalil bit her lip. They were so close. Their lips were so close.

“Girls!”

Keeri’s voice startled Zazzalil out of her thoughts, and she promptly rolled off Jemilla, laying on her back in the snow. _What was that?_

Keeri shook her head at the sight of snow-covered Jemilla and Zazzalil, panting on their backs in the snow. “Dinner’s on the stove. I want you both dressed and ready by the time it’s on the table.”

They stood and shook hands. Dinner equalled truce. Keeri went back inside, making some comments relating to ‘savages’ and ‘disturbing the peace’, which made Zazzalil laugh.

“Well fought, soldier,” she said, dusting snow off her hand and offering it to Jemilla.

Jemilla shook, grinning. “It’s been an honor to fight by your side, Elizabeth.”

“I told you I’d have to kill you if you ever called me that!” Zazzalil leapt onto Jemilla’s back, in a less-than-vicious attack, simply clinging to Jemilla’s back. She shuddered, but managed to stay upright, which was impressive. Zazzalil could be clingy, though, and this was not the first time Jemilla was ambushed. Zazzalil curved around her to make it easier for Jemilla to carry her up the steps. “I’ll make an exception this time, though. Just this once. ‘Cause I love you.”

Jemilla swayed on her feet. Zazzalil assumed it was because she had slipped on the stairs, and said nothing. Jemilla stuttered out a thank you and dumped Zazzalil on the snowdrift on the porch, leaving Zazzalil to fend for herself. She put her clothes in the wash and changed into dry clothes.

Dinner was wonderful. It had to be, with Keeri’s cooking. Zazzalil opened her gifts, which were also wonderful, though some were a little strange. There was the stuffed duck from Keeri, which she insisted be named Ducker. Zazzalil immediately took it too far and came up with a song for it. Jemilla joined in, spurred by the look of disappointment mixed with amusement on Keeri’s face. 

That made it better. 

There were, of course, the usual gifts. Clothes. Socks. Practical items. Jemilla made her a quilt, which was lovely. Zazzalil was especially impressed that Jemilla had managed to find enough time to make it and keep it a surprise until she gave it to Zazzalil. She put it on her bed before she got into the shower.

Better, was when she got in the shower and Jemilla stood outside so she could rant and still have Zazzalil hear her while she did it. There was just one issue.

“I mean, I know they’re just earrings, but you gave them to me, and she’s had them for _three years_ , and I kinda want them back,” Jemilla was saying when Zazzalil got out of the shower, wrapped in nothing but her towel.

Zazzalil nodded understandably, and was halfway to her closet when she noticed it. She froze in her tracks. Jemilla hadn’t been standing by the door to rant. “You’re on my bed.”

Jemilla’s eyes widened. “It’s closer to the bathroom, I can get off-”

“ _No!_ ” Zazzalil dashed to her closet. “Nononono. Hang on.” She threw on a shirt and pants, raced back to her bed and pounced without hesitation to Jemilla’s side. Not daring to pause and think on the decision, she nestled right into her friend’s side, sighing at the familiarity of it.

Jemilla moved, presumably to stand, but Zazzalil whined. “Please? It’s my birthday, you can’t say no.”

Jemilla sighed, and laid back down. “Fine. One more present.”

Zazzalil celebrated and laid her head down on Jemilla’s chest. The slow, steady beating was more comforting than she’d expected. The beating got rather fast when she shut her eyes, nuzzling into Jemilla. She wrapped an arm around Jemilla’s side. “This is nice.”

Jemilla put a hand on her back. “Yeah. This is nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy the fluff, it may or may not last
> 
> thank you for reading :)


	6. spring II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... no fluff today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for a character death (minor-ish, but a character death nonetheless) and some conflicted/sad feelings following it

The house felt emptier that spring. It was almost as if the house knew that its eldest occupant was dead. There were still the same three people in it. It was just the fourth occupant, who was there the least, that was gone. Keeri hung a set of windchimes to fill some of the silence. They cut less flowers than usual. They felt out of place in a mourning house, despite the overall lack of sadness. Mourning wasn’t exactly the right word. None of them were particularly sad he had died. He had been an asshole. 

Keeri coped by baking more. Jemilla couldn’t complain about more baked goods in the house. She just helped eat them. She was a little quieter than usual, Keeri left them alone more than usual. Letting them stew with their thoughts could be for better or worse, depending on the day.

Jemilla responded by hanging around Zazzalil more. She held her hand, leaned her head on Zazzalil’s shoulder, hugged her. Zazzalil didn’t complain. It made the twinge in Jemilla’s gut happy, and it made her feel overall better about the whole situation. Zazzalil’s birthday snuggle had become an annual thing, and was quite possibly Jemilla’s favorite tradition ever.

It hit Zazzalil the hardest. She couldn’t remember a time he’d ever shown her real love and affection. But all anyone ever described him as was kind and caring. She wasn’t mourning Thomas Kane. She was mourning the family she’d never had. The family she was supposed to have. The family she did have, in a way. It was different, though. Jemilla knew that, it didn’t upset her.

This was what Jemilla gathered from Zazzalil’s frustrated walks around the house, a deep frown on her face as she surveyed every piece of furniture that her father had left her. Jemilla always trailed a few rooms behind, patiently awaiting the moment she knew was coming. The moment Zazzalil cracked and ran back into Jemilla’s arms, crying until she could feel again.

Jemilla couldn’t say she was _sad_ , exactly. What made her the maddest was that Thomas was still hurting Zazzalil, even in death. Possibly more in death than he had while alive. It hurt the flutter in Jemilla’s gut to see Zazzalil cry. 

The flutter in Jemilla’s gut had grown over the years. It had started as a pigeon flitting around her gut, but now it was more the equivalent to a seagull. Not exactly in the size, but in the annoying nature of it. It was always flaring whenever Jemilla least wanted it to, whenever she needed to be serious and soothing, but it was hard to focus because Zazzalil’s hair smelled really nice. It had grown into a much larger demand, that needed to be satisfied by being near Zazzalil. Jemilla was pretty sure the word was love; but it felt like a big step. 

It also didn’t feel like the most important thing at the time. Jemilla wanted to kiss her best friend, Zazzalil was sorting through deep childhood traumas. The latter took priority. Besides, it was highly likely that she didn’t reciprocate, and Jemilla didn’t want to go and make things awkward for the both of them.

She would rather maintain their friendship. It was a risk she was willing to take. Besides, it didn’t hurt that much to ignore the twist in her stomach, at least for the time being.

“He was a bitch, but he had a lot going on,” Zazzalil declared, standing in front of the mirror and smoothing down the dress Jemilla had helped her pick out. Jemilla zipped up the dress, watching in the mirror as it pulled tight. She bit down on her lip. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about it, but she was right. Zazzalil did look beautiful in it. She pinched her arm.

“He lost his soulmate,” Jemilla said, trying to sound sympathetic. “I don’t know what that feels like, but it’s described as the worst pain in existence.”

Zazzalil sighed. “Cheery, J-mils.”

“Sorry.” Jemilla winced.

Zazzalil shrugged. “I mean, it’s kinda like, fuck him, you know?”

Jemilla did know. She nodded, fixing up her own dress. She was wearing flats, while Zazzalil wore heels at every opportunity to, quote, ‘trick the tall assholes into thinking I’m one of them’. Excluding Jemilla because, again in Zazzalil’s words, she was not an asshole, even if she was a little tall.

“He couldn’t have just held on two more years until I was a legal adult,” Zazzalil muttered, slipping into her heels and growing a few annoying inches. She was still fussing with her dress.

Jemilla watched, torn between indulging her demanding heart and checking in. “Hey,” she said in her best gentle voice. “I know that you’re not okay, but… are you okay?”

Zazzalil laughed. It was a sad, bitter thing. “Yeah, I’m dandy. My dad loved me so much he killed himself.”

Jemilla pursed her lips. “See, you say yes, and then you say stuff like that, which makes me think otherwise.”

Zazzalil turned to Jemilla and held out her arms. “C’mere.” Jemilla obliged, dutifully ignoring the happy twitch in her gut at the contact. “I’m okay-ish,” she said, matching Jemilla’s soft tone. “I’m not gonna do anything stupid, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Jemilla ran a finger along Zazzalil’s sleeve. “Stupid like… with knives?”

“Yeah.” Zazzalil laughed into Jemilla’s shoulder. “Nothing stupid with knives. I could be better, but I could be worse, yeah?”

Something deep within Jemilla said Zazzalil would feel better if she stroked her head. She did it. “Yeah,” she agreed. “But… if you do get the urge to do something stupid with knives… tell me?”

Zazzalil let go, and looked at the floor.

“I just want to help,” Jemilla said, putting a finger under Zazzalil’s chin, forcing her to look Jemilla in the eyes. The stars were dim.

She relented. “Yeah, alright.”

Jemilla smiled as the first tears started to gather on her face. “Good. I can handle this, I don’t think I could handle losing you.”

Zazzalil pulled her back into an embrace. Jemilla was surprised, but she wasn’t going to complain. She rubbed Zazzalil’s back, even when her shoulders started to shake, even when Jemilla could feel the front of her dress getting wet.

“Girls?”

Zazzalil stiffened at the sound of Keeri’s voice.

“We’re in the bathroom,” Jemilla called. “We’re almost ready.”

“Alright,” came Keeri’s response. “The car’s outside, whenever you’re ready.”

“We’ll be right out,” Jemilla promised.

Keeri’s footsteps retreated down the hall, and Zazzalil’s head fell back onto Jemilla’s chest. She sniffled. Jemilla sat down on the toilet and put her hands on Zazzalil’s waist, offering a tissue. Zazzalil blew her nose, wiped the tears away. She sighed.

“Ready?”

She nodded.

“Alright.” Jemilla offered her hand, and Zazzalil took it without hesitation, gripping tightly. She didn’t let go the whole day. 

That night, when Jemilla walked out of the bathroom to find Zazzalil in her bed, she didn’t question it. It hurt the twinge in her gut, but she could sacrifice one night. She could handle it. Even if she couldn’t. Jemilla was going to be there for Zazzalil if it killed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... i killed off a character and gave you some angst... but we also got a 'love' drop so... sorry?
> 
> happy Hanukkah!
> 
> thank you for reading :)


	7. summer II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> back to your regularly scheduled wholesome content, trees now included!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's not exactly fluff... but it's not really angst? i believe the phrase is 'filler chapter', but i like it nonetheless.

The house matched the green summer grass. Zazzalil kept making grass whistles. The flowers were in bloom, and Jemilla made it a habit to gather frequent bouquets. The porch swing got dusted off, and was in frequent use. The curtains were always pulled back to let in more sunlight; they couldn’t get enough of it on those long, hot days. Jemilla took to taking long walks around the property, strolling in and out of the woods and the gardens. Zazzalil tagged along, making conversation or complaining about her aching limbs. Jemilla didn’t seem to mind, and, if anything, always seemed to get more excited when Zazzalil followed her out of the house to walk.

Zazzalil always preferred their walks in the woods as opposed to gardens. She liked being able to sneak up on Jemilla. She liked the shade. She liked seeing deer. She liked trying to decide if the berry she found was edible, only for Jemilla to be horrified at the sight of Zazzalil dangling the berry over her mouth. Jemilla just wasn’t allowed to know that Zazz mostly did it for Jemilla to smack the berry away, scolding about all the many varieties of poisonous berries and the dangers of eating anything and everything.

Second only to Jemilla, Zazzalil’s favorite part of woods-walks were trees. Climbing them, specifically.

“You’re gonna fall,” Jemilla warned.

Zazzalil climbed a branch higher. “I am God!” 

Jemilla snorted and kept walking, leaving Zazzalil to scramble down the tree, jogging to catch up.

“I’m going to get you up a tree,” she said.

“No you’re not.” Jemilla said it with complete confidence.

Zazzalil began to skip. “I _so_ am.”

Jemilla only shook her head. 

As it would turn out, all it took was another week and a large pine tree to convince Jemilla.

“Just a branch,” Zazzalil said, five branches high and showing no sign of stopping. “Please?”

Jemilla pursed her lips. “This does look like the safest tree so far,” she admitted.

“Yeah it does,” Zazzalil immediately agreed, hopeful that this angle would convince her. “The other trees were shit, this is the tree for you.”

Jemilla smirked, sizing up the tree nonetheless. “Where do I start?” She asked, after a few minutes of staring at it.

Zazzalil hopped to the ground and stood beside Jemilla. “Well, I usually start by putting my arms somewhere. It helps me get my legs up if I can pull with my arms. For example…” Zazzalil reached up, grabbing a branch above her head. She used it to pull herself onto the lowest branch, standing on it. She jumped back to the ground, dusting off her hands. “See?”

Jemilla nodded. “Like this?” She reached up and grabbed the same branch Zazzalil had. She was taller, and didn’t have to pull to step onto the lowest branch. 

“There you go,” Zazzalil said. “That’s it.”

“I did it?” Jemilla beamed.

“You did it.” Zazzalil couldn’t help but smile back at the pure happiness and pride on Jemilla’s face. She pulled herself up beside Jemilla, ignoring the squeeze of her heart when her side brushed against Jemilla. “Ready for the next branch?”

Jemilla took a deep breath, and nodded.

“Alright. It’s essentially the same process, over and over until you don’t want to go any higher. Although, sometimes, if the first branch is high up, you have to hang upside down and kinda cling to the branch with your arms and legs, like you’re giving it a hug, kinda like a koala?”

Jemilla appeared confused, but she nodded anyway.

“Yeah, and then you can pull yourself up. That way’s harder though, and I don’t like to do if off the ground.” Zazzalil looked up, squinting at the branches. She spotted one, nearly directly above. Perfect. “Then you just kinda… do it again.” She grabbed the branch she’d been eyeing and grabbed it, using it to pull herself up to another branch. “Wanna try?”

Jemilla looked down, and back up again. She wasn’t even a foot off the ground. She swallowed. “Yeah, okay.”

Zazzalil extended a hand. “Just grab on, I can help you.”

“Okay.” Jemilla reached out a shaking hand and grabbed Zazzalil’s. She sucked in a breath. Ever so slowly, Jemilla lifted one foot off the branch she was on, and stepped up onto Zazzalil’s branch. It swayed a little under the additional weight, and Jemilla froze.

“Okay,” said Zazzalil. “So maybe I’ll get off this branch and then you can get on, yeah?”

Jemilla nodded. “Yeah.” Her voice was barely a whisper. She glanced at the ground again.

Zazzalil easily climbed up another branch, not letting go of Jemilla’s hand for a second. “Okay, you should be good.”

Jemilla put her weight on the foot on the new branch, and, clinging to the higher branch with one hand and Zazzalil with the other, stepped up. Once safely with both feet on the branch, she hugged the trunk, exhaling heavily.

“Good! Do you want to go up another branch?”

Jemilla looked up at Zazzalil, so open and smiley, crouched so comfortably in the branch. She nodded.

They were up six branches, and Jemilla was looking progressively paler with each branch when it hit her. Something that probably should have been obvious. “Jem… are you afraid of heights?”

Jemilla frowned. “What’s that mean?”

Oh. _Oh_. Of course she didn’t know. Why would she know? Zazzalil bit the inside of her cheek. It wasn’t something that got frequently brought up. It warranted a very specific conversation, a conversation they somehow hadn’t had in ten years. Sometimes she forgot that Jemilla had never known her parents, had never known a real home before she moved into the Kane estate. Moments like those brought it all rushing back.

“To be afraid of heights,” Zazzalil explained, doing everything in her power to not sound pretentious or like she was explaining something Jemilla should already be aware of, “it’s basically the way it’s worded. If you have a fear of heights you’re afraid of being in high places.”

Jemilla exhaled shakily. “Oh.” She paused. Looked down. “Yeah, I think I have one of those.”

“Okay.” Zazzalil bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have brought you all the way up here if-”

“-You didn’t know,” Jemilla said. “It’s not your fault.”

Zazzalil climbed down a branch so she was only one above Jemilla. “I agree to that on the condition that it’s not your fault either, for not knowing. Now we know. And you don’t have to do this again, if you don’t want it.”

Jemilla nodded. “I would appreciate that.”

That got a laugh out of Zazzalil. “Do you want help getting down?”

Jemilla glanced down again. Breathed a little faster. “Yes, please.”

“Okay.” Zazzalil looked down at the web of branches coming out of the tree trunk, trying to find whichever was the sturdiest and nearest. _Bingo_. “Alright, so you don’t have to look down, I promise, but if you put your foot out and a little to the right, and then move down, it’ll be right there. You can hold my hand.”

Jemilla gripped Zazzalil’s hand, and, slowly but surely lowered her foot. Sure enough, she hit a branch. She let out a sigh of relief and stepped down onto it.

“That’s it,” Zazzalil said, easing herself down onto the next branch. The one Jemilla had just been on. “You’re doing great.”

Zazzalil guided Jemilla all the way down the tree. She scanned below for the easiest branch, instructed Jemilla accordingly, and, most importantly, offered her a hand whenever she was looking like she might puke. She followed Jemilla all the way down the tree, her only focus on getting Jemilla back on the ground. When it finally happened, Jemilla put her feet down in the grass, and sighed heavily.

“Oh, thank God.”

Zazzalil landed in the grass beside Jemilla quietly. Neither of them said much as they started the long walk back home. Not much was to be said. No. There was a lot to be said. Zazzalil had a lot to say, anyway. She just wasn’t sure how to put it into words. She had a message to convey. What was it? It was something along the lines of… _ah_. That was it.

“Sorry.”

Jemilla looked down from the sky. The sun was beginning to set, and it was beautiful. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

Zazzalil shrugged. “I kinda forced you up there. If I hadn’t forced you to climb it you wouldn’t have had to go through… _that_.”

She laughed, a beautiful thing. Zazzalil would rather Jemilla’s laugh over a pretty sunset any day. “It’s alright, Zazz,” she said, wrapping her fingers in Zazzalil’s. “You didn’t know. You have fun doing it, you just wanted me to feel the same way. It’s not your fault for not knowing. How would you have known? I didn’t.”

Zazzalil didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure what her job was if not to know Jemilla better than she knew herself. So she smiled, curled her fingers back around Jemilla’s, leaning against her arm. “Thank you.”

Jemilla didn’t say anything back, just leaned her head on Zazzalil’s.

Neither of them spoke again until they were climbing up the steps to the house.

“You know, as far as first climbs go, that could have been a lot worse.”

Jemilla laughed, and pushed Zazzalil back down the porch steps. Things were back to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chance that i enjoy climbing trees and am projecting that onto zazz? yeah sounds about right
> 
> thank you for reading :)


	8. autumn II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some not plot relevant lore that never gets brought back up again (i have nothing to say in my own defense), ft. drunk(ish) and clingy zazz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven't really discussed their age recently but im gonna say they're adult enough to drink (alcohol, that is)

The house stood out in autumn. The reds and oranges of the leaves were a stark contrast to the gentle green paint of the house. The apples were ripe again, and the smell drifted through the air, blessing the nostrils of all those around. There was a gentle breeze. It pushed the porch swing back and forth at a slow pace. Jemilla’s bare feet pushed off on the wood planks of the porch each time she swung forward. The sky was clear, stars shining down on unworthy eyes. 

The day had long been over, but Jemilla had yet to move. She had tossed an apple core into the garden a little over an hour ago, when she’d first sat down at the porch swing. She’d gone outside because Keeri got too tired of waiting and went to bed. Jemilla promised to tuck Zazzalil in when she got home. She’d rather do it alone, anyway. Keeri had a nose for sexual tension, and while Jemilla wouldn't use "sexual tension" to describe what was between her and Zazzalil... She wasn't so sure Keeri would agree.

Autumn was a popular season for parties. The name Kane was still a powerful one, and Zazzalil got quite a few invitations. She didn’t accept many. She’d accepted that one, though, because Keeri said a boy would be there.

His name was Connor Nally. Keeri said he’d been born at a similar time to Zazzalil. Keeri said he’d be a good match for her. As a result, Jemilla kind of hated him. She tried not to. It wasn’t fair. She had never met the boy. He might be perfectly nice. But the twinge in her stomach that got excited whenever Zazzalil was around twisted rather painfully whenever he was brought up. She could never quite hold back her frown.

The thought of a party was exciting nonetheless, regardless of whether or not Jemilla was invited. She wasn’t, since she wasn’t technically a Kane. Didn’t have the bloodline, and that apparently mattered. Zazzalil had been half convinced she shouldn’t go simply because Jemilla wasn’t invited. Jemilla had told her that she didn’t really want to go anyway. It wasn’t a lie. She didn’t particularly want to go. She just missed Zazzalil while she was gone. 

Helping her get ready for the party had been very exciting. It made Jemilla’s heart very happy to help brush Zazzalil’s hair up, to hold Zazzalil’s hair in her hands and braid it for her. To hold her hand while she adjusted to the heels. To be the one Zazzalil looked at when she nearly tripped. She’d also had a dress, and a fitting. It was entertainment in an otherwise boring season.

Keeri said that this Connor Nally was a good match for Zazzalil because they’d been born on the same day. She’d said that the day you were born was a sign of your compatibility, or whatever that meant. She said it meant the gods had chosen you as a pair.

Keeri also said that not everyone had a soulmate. That you either found your soulmate throughout your life, or you died and had never had a soulmate, never even knowing if they were out there somewhere. Jemilla couldn’t decide which was worse, knowing you had a soulmate and never living long enough to find them, or dying, wondering if there was someone out there who would have made your life better, but it was far too late now. 

Then there was the fact that Keeri had used the word ‘gods’. Gods? There were gods? Why had Jemilla never heard of them before? It had taken quite a bit of pestering for Keeri to reveal this information, so maybe it was forbidden to talk about it. That would have made a little bit of sense. Jemilla would buy that. Maybe she’d wake up Keeri and ask if Zazzalil didn’t arrive home soon.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, a car appeared on the distant horizon. Zazzalil.

Jemilla was waiting in the driveway when the car finally pulled around. A taxi. The back door opened, and Zazzalil stumbled out, one shoe on, one in hand. She waved to the car as it drove away.

“J-mills?” She slurred as she stumbled to Jemilla, who quickly got an arm under Zazzalil and helped hold her up.

She was practically holding Zazzalil in her arms. “Are you alright?”

Zazzalil took another step, and her knees buckled under her, leaving Jemilla to scoop her up. She laughed, her breath tinted by alcohol. “Never better.”

“Right,” Jemilla muttered, mostly to herself as she hitched Zazzalil higher. “Are you drunk?”

“A little.” Zazzalil laid her head on Jemilla’s shoulder, letting herself be carried inside. “Mostly I’m upset."

Jemilla frowned. Zazzalil was meant to be a lot of things at a party. Upset was not one of them. Perhaps the redness around Zazzalil’s eyes could be from crying, and not drunkenness. “What happened?”

Zazzalil readjusted herself in Jemilla’s arms, making herself comfortable. “Connor Nally.” She frowned as the name left her lips. “Keeri said he was nice.”

“Was he?” Jemilla asked, shutting the front door with her hip as she carried Zazzalil inside. 

“No.” Zazzalil buried her face in Jemilla’s shoulder. “Keeri was very wrong.”

Jemilla took the shoe from Zazzalil’s hand and took the other off her foot, tossing them down the stairs behind her. They could wait. 

“What did he do?”

Zazzalil sniffled. “He-he tried to kiss me.”

The seagull in Jemilla’s stomach was angrily pecking her all over, but she shoved it down. “Did you like it?”

Zazzalil shook her head into Jemilla’s shoulder. “No. I backed up and told him I wasn’t ready and he-he kept saying he could fix me, like there was something wrong with me not wanting to kiss him.”

Jemilla had some choice words to throw in the face of Connor Nally. A fist, mostly. But that could wait. She held her breath. “And?”

“I ran.”

Jemilla opened the door to their room. “Ran?” She repeated.

Zazzalil nodded, lifting her head from Jemilla’s shoulder and looking her in the eye. “I knew… I knew you’d make it better.”

Jemilla put Zazzalil down on her bed and got her pajamas, pulling her dress over her head after a nod of consent and put it back in her closet. She tossed Zazzalil’s discarded undergarments into the laundry basket. They could wait.

She was almost afraid to ask. “Were you right?”

Zazzalil nodded long and hard. “So much better,” she sighed.

Jemilla smiled a smile nobody could see. “I’m glad.”

Zazzalil informed Jemilla that she did not need to pee, so Jemilla tucked her in and gave her a kiss on the forehead, hoping she wouldn’t remember it in the morning. She was getting back into her own bed, readying for sleep when she made out the small complaint.

Zazzalil sat up in bed. “Make it better?”

“I don’t understand.” Jemilla did understand, but this couldn't be happening. It was too good to be true.

Zazzalil held up the corner of her blankets. “I won’t be able to sleep without you.”

Jemilla gave in easier than she should have. “Alright.” It was barely above a whisper, but Zazzalil heard it and celebrated accordingly. She settled right into Jemilla when she laid down, eagerly placing her head beneath the crook of Jemilla’s neck.

“‘Night, ‘night, Jem,” she whispered, her legs rubbing back and forth beneath the covers like a cricket.

“Good night, Zazzalil,” Jemilla whispered back. She couldn’t hold back the smile. Zazzalil fell asleep quickly, leaving Jemilla to her thoughts. For once, she didn’t need Zazzalil awake to think of it. This was nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some fluff, as a treat. this chapter is kinda short but we are coming up on a very long chapter, so look forward to that :)
> 
> thank you for reading!


	9. winter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zazzalil sets a plan into motion. their nice day out gets interrupted by a very strange occurrence. life changing, even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first time i edited this chapter it was in the 2k word section of “long”. the second time i edited it became 3k but i didn't like it so i rewrote and now it's in the 4k section of long, so enjoy that, i suppose.
> 
> very excited to finally release this, it's been a long time coming.

The house was not drowned in snow that winter, much to the disappointment of one Zazzalil. She was of the mind of “if it doesn’t snow, what’s the point of the bitter cold?”. Jemilla seemed to mind a little less, although she had to admit that snow was the best part of winter. Zazzalil suspected that Jemilla was just relieved she couldn’t be dragged into any snow antics that got them in trouble with Keeri. While she was reeling from the loss of her snow, she did discover that icicles made excellent swords in a pinch. 

Keeri was out of town for the week, which wasn’t bad, it just left them in a different environment. When there were three of them Zazzalil always had someone to go to when Jemilla got to be too much. Or, more specifically, when the urge to do something rash like kiss Jemilla became too strong.

It was strange, the things Jemilla made her feel. Zazzalil was pretty sure that they hadn’t always been there in exactly the same way. She’d always liked Jemilla. She’d liked her from the moment she stepped out of that car and scrunched her nose when her caregiver clenched her hands on Jemilla’s shoulders. She’d even loved Jemilla. Because, really, who didn’t love their best friends?

Zazzalil knew she did.

There was only one problem.

Jemilla.

She put a new meaning to the word “love”, and Zazzalil wasn’t sure what to do about it.

On one hand, she was surprised. The feelings had sort of come out of nowhere. Except, really, when she thought about it, they weren’t new, and hadn’t come out of nowhere. They’d always been there in small amounts, they’d just now reached a higher level. Or maybe just now Zazzalil was finally taking a moment to absorb her feelings and… _woah_.

They were strong fuckers, she’d give them that.

It was a strange thing to experience, and Zazzalil knew that the last thing she wanted to do was talk about it, which was the Jemilla way to approach it. Jemilla always seemed to know exactly what to do, her words could solve any problem. Zazzalil kind of wished she knew how to do that. How to melt Jemilla into her arms just using her words.

Sure, she could sweet talk her way into anything with Keeri, but Jemilla was different somehow. She knew how Zazzalil thought, knew all her usual tricks. Keeri did too, by that point, but she always fell for Zazzalil’s puppy dog eyes if the “usual tricks” didn’t do it. Jemilla, on the other hand, did not. Even if she squinted and pinched her lips up in the adorable way she did when she really wanted something, Jemilla didn’t give in.

So, Zazzalil turned to other tactics. Namely; her actions.

Because, what better way to woo a girl without realizing she was being wooed than a fun activity that could be considered friends having fun or a sweet and thoughtful date?

One thing Zazzalil could not do in order to make sure Jemilla was actually in attendance to said not-date was explicitly _say_ that it was a not-date. Because then Jemilla would ask questions and Zazzalil would need to use words to respond, and she was pretty sure if she had to use her words to explain she’d do something silly like accidentally admit that she was in love with Jemilla and--neither of them needed that on their consciences.

Excuses were her default. Why not use one of her weaknesses to her advantage?

“Woah, what?” Jemilla said, laughing around her morning cup of tea. “ _Zazzalil_? Do _work_?”

Zazzalil rolled her eyes, playing along for the sake of getting Jemilla to go. “I know, I know. I was surprised, too. Call it cabin fever.”

“I will.” Jemilla drained the cup, her eyes teasing as she put it in the sink. “Now, Miss I-don’t-really-wanna-do-the-work-today, what did you have in mind for our work today?”

“It doesn’t have to be work, exactly,” Zazzalil said, slowing her words for emphasis. “In fact, I’d rather we didn’t.”

Jemilla’s lips twitched. “Shocker.”

Zazzalil sniffed and pretended she hadn’t heard. “I’m talking going outside, appreciating the great outdoors.”

“Was it you that just yesterday called the outdoors, and I quote,” Jemilla held up a finger as she quoted Zazzalil, “ _‘what’s wrong with the world’_?”

“Look, do you wanna hang out with me or not?”

Jemilla’s snark vanished. “That would be nice.”

Zazzalil had to physically restrain herself from smiling like a lovesick idiot, even if the description was accurate. “Good. Do you have ice skates?”

Jemilla frowned. “Damn my over-preparedness. Yes.”

The plan was falling into place just the way she’d hoped.

“Meet me outside at noon. Be dressed to walk outside in the cold. Bring your skates.”

Jemilla was a good not-date participant and showed up on time, dressed warm and ice skates in hand, grumbling about it in a manner that Zazzalil honestly found adorable. She said none of the comments that ran through her mind, all of which her brain deemed either too snarky or flirty for proper use in the situation, and started leading Jemilla down a path she hadn’t walked in over ten years. 

It was a pretty trail, although it would have been prettier with snow, but there was still something enchanting about the tree's branches overhead, deemed a “tree tunnel” by a Zazzalil that was still learning how to speak. Keeri used the phrase more than she did, and mostly did it to tease or to reminisce. The tree branches did form a sort of tunnel above their heads, though, and the word seemed fitting, for the first time since Zazzalil had coined the phrase.

Jemilla giggled when Zazzalil relayed those facts, looking up at the criss-crossing branches and the gray sky peeking between them, a small smile on her face. “You sound like you were a cute baby.”

Zazzalil walked off her short-circuiting brain and tried to formulate a response. “I wasn’t a _baby_ -baby. I was like, four.”

“Still.” Jemilla looked down at Zazzalil, her smile expanding. “Little. _Adorable_.”

“Okay, okay.”

Jemilla grinned, her teasing job complete; a fact demonstrated by the telltale flush on Zazzalil’s cheeks.

Jemilla probably would have asked how much longer the walk was going to be if Zazzalil hadn’t brought up the tree tunnel story, so Zazzalil would give it that. The lake wasn’t very far, anyway, and it didn’t feel that much longer with ice skates in her hands. It was only a fifteen minute walk to and from, but an incredible amount of silence could happen in fifteen minutes. Neither of them spoke much after the tree tunnel teasing had died down, and Zazzalil was more than content to just listen to the sound of Jemilla breathing.

At one point, Zazzalil felt Jemilla shiver next to her. Without sparing a thought, she grabbed Jemilla’s hand.

It wasn’t something they’d done in a long time.

Not since they were kids.

Jemilla held on tight.

The high of holding Jemilla’s hand was enough to carry Zazzalil the remaining three minutes, when she recognized the dip in the path and covered Jemilla’s eyes, walking her the rest of the way down the path until the dirt turned to sand beneath their feet.

Jemilla’s foot scuffed at the stiff and almost frozen sand, her lips pursed. “Where _are_ we?”

“You can look now.” Zazzalil took her hands away, stepping back with baited breath. 

Jemilla’s shoulders sagged. “ _Woah_.”

The lake was frozen over from the cold, the ice smooth and begging to be skated on. The surrounding trees formed a net around the edges, the leafless branches forming arms that curved a neat circle around the edge. Icicles dangled from stray branches, causing a pleasant chiming whenever the wind blew.

Zazzalil skipped towards the lake, swinging her skates in her hands. “Was that worth the walk?”

“Something like that,” Jemilla muttered, her eyes still wide and scanning the lake.

“Close enough.” Zazzalil dropped to the sand and began taking her boots off, slipping her feet into the skates and tying them up.

“Wait, we’re actually going to go on that?”

“Uh, yeah?” Zazzalil looked from the ice to Jemilla’s skeptical expression. “Jemilla, it’s been frozen on warmer days, trust me.”

Jemilla’s brows furrowed. “No--it’s not that. It’s just. Um.” Her eyes fell to the sand. “I’ve never done this before.”

Because _of course she hadn’t_.

“That’s fine,” Zazzalil said, pretty proud of her fast recovery time. “You don’t need to be a pro to enjoy yourself. I’ve only gone a few times, not at all in the past twelve-some years. You’re allowed to fall.”

Jemilla didn’t appear completely convinced, but put her skates on anyway, the crease in her forehead only smoothing when Zazzalil insisted on tying her laces.

“You’re not doing it tight enough,” she explained, pulling the strings. “You’ve gotta do it real tight or else it’s too loose, and then you could hurt your ankle if you fall.”

“Thank you, _Keeri_ ,” Jemilla teased once her ice skates had gotten the Zazzalil seal of approval.

Zazzalil scoffed as she stood, dusting the sand off her legs. “You’re going to be thanking me later when neither of us have broken a leg.”

Jemilla only smiled.

She did not smile once she’d gotten onto the ice. Zazzalil actually thought she was doing pretty well, considering it was her first time ever ice skating. God knew Zazzalil had been worse at her first attempt. Jemilla was soothed by none of that, clinging to Zazzalil’s arm, cursing the whole time. Zazzalil mostly thought it was funny, because Jemilla liked to call her out on language use, yet there she was, “ _Oh god, oh fuck, oh god, oh fuck_ ”-ing her way through unsteady circles on the lake.

“This is terrifying,” she finally said, a variant from her curse-train. “I keep thinking I’m going to fall, and then I don’t, and then I just think I’m going to fall again.”

“Falling isn’t that big a deal, J-mils.” Zazzalil understood the pressure of a first fall. She’d certainly felt it in her earlier ice skating attempts. She’d grown to not really care, but she understood the mentality of it. “Here.” She swept her legs out from beneath herself, falling with a gentle _whump_ onto her back. 

“Shit, Zazz, are you okay?” Jemilla fumbled without the guidance of Zazzalil, but managed to skid to a stop near her feet.

Zazzalil moved in a manner she might if she were making a snow angel on the ice. Jemilla was kind of adorable when she was concerned for Zazzalil’s wellbeing. She gathered a tiny ball of the snow they’d scraped up with their skates on the ice and flicked it at Jemilla. “Never better. _And_ , now I don’t feel nervous about falling. It didn’t even hurt that bad.”

“I know what you’re doing,” Jemilla said, apparently unimpressed.

“What? I feel better now. I’ll even catch you.”

Jemilla raised an eyebrow. “You have to catch me.”

Zazzalil smiled. “I promise. Pinky. You just have to get down here so we can meet pinkys.”

Jemilla squinted. “I’m not falling for that.”

“But aren’t you? _Falling_?”

Jemilla groaned at the joke and glared at Zazzalil, who only grinned. “Fine.” She neatly swept one foot out from beneath her and landed with nothing but a small _ouch_ , her head landing square in Zazzalil’s lap.

“There.” Zazzalil brushed a few hairs out of Jemilla’s face. “Feel better?”

Jemilla smiled up into Zazzalil’s face. “I do,” she admitted. “You were right.”

“It does happen from time to time.”

Jemilla laughed, and the sound that rang through the trees and up towards the sky was a sound Zazzalil never tired of hearing. Her eyes flicked about Zazzalil’s face once she recovered. She was staring like she saw stars in Zazzalil’s eyes.

“You know something?” Zazzalil whispered, sitting out in the middle of the lake and reaching out for one of Jemilla’s hands. Jemilla raised her eyebrows, putting one of her hands in Zazzalil’s, twiddling their thumbs. “You might be my favorite person.”

Jemilla’s expression softened, her hand stiffening in Zazzalil’s grip. “Zazz,” she said. “You don’t mean that.”

Zazzalil tapped their fingers together. “I do. I mean, who else would it be, Keeri?” She wrinkled her nose. “I mean, I love Keeri, I do, but I don’t love her like I love you.”

 _I don’t love her like_ I love you. She’d been so close, one small fumble from releasing her best kept and only secret from Jemilla.

Jemilla was staring very hard at Zazzalil. She looked like she wanted to kiss Zazzalil, and she frankly wouldn’t have minded. Jemilla’s lips parted. She looked like she was about to say something, and Zazzalil was ready to listen. That was when the sharp pain in her wrist started. They both leapt away from the other, skidding away and clutching their wrists.

Zazzalil clutched her wrist to her chest, unable to take her eyes off Jemilla as she stared in horror at her own wrist. The pain had stopped as soon as it had begun, but something felt changed. Zazzalil didn’t feel exactly the same way she had before. Something had been altered. She looked. Her breath caught in her throat.

Because there was a mark on her wrist.

The shape was indistinct, vaguely square with a triangular top. But there was a mark on her wrist. That was… that meant… Memories flooded Zazzalil, memories she couldn’t even remember forming. Memories of darted glimpses at the faded mark on her own father’s wrist. Memories of the fade that meant that the worst had happened. Fade unlike the vibrancy of the mark on Zazzalil’s wrist, which was unmistakable. And that meant… oh. _Fuck_.

Jemilla looked up at the same time, both of their faces wearing matching expressions of panic.

“Hey, Jemilla?”

Jemilla nodded, her eyes locked on Zazzalil’s wrist. “Uh-huh?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but uh--do you remember when we were kids and we talked about, uh--”

“--Soulmates?”

Zazzalil let out her breath. “Yeah.”

“Shit, Zazzalil, what are you getting at?”

“I think you know what I’m getting at.”

Jemilla’s eyes widened, her jaw dropping open. “Oh.”

Zazzalil winced. “Yeah. Um--”

“--Count of three?” Jemilla gestured towards their wrists. 

This was not what Zazzalil had had in mind when she planned the not-date.

“Deal.”

“Okay.” Jemilla looked back at her own wrist, a twisted sort of calm setting into her eyes. “Three.”

Zazzalil looked at her own mark, praying that what she was hoping for wasn’t absurd. “Two.”

They finished it together, just as they’d always done everything. “One.”

Zazzalil held out her wrist, squeezing her eyes shut as Jemilla did the same. Jemilla let out a laugh, a laugh that sounded like a cry, a laugh that Zazzalil loved all the same. She opened her own eyes, chasing away the last of the thoughts of the faded mark on her father’s wrist. 

The mark on Jemilla’s wrist was unmistakably identical. The same squarish shape and triangular top. Zazzalil didn’t really have the spare brain power to try and figure out the exact shape.

She fell back onto the ice, the cold a relief to her flaming cheeks. So many emotions were flooding her that it was nice to have the cold to shock her into just being. Relief was definitely present. She might not have known how Jemilla felt about the situation, but one mystery was solved. She was Jemilla’s… soulmate?

“Do you think… is this a bad thing?”

Jemilla’s voice was closer than it had been before. Zazzalil opened her eyes to find she’d scooted closer, and had crossed her legs a short space away from Zazzalil. No more than a hand squeeze away. Zazzalil took in her composure, her tone. Careful. Guarded. Ready to be shattered.

She held her own breath. “No.”

Jemilla sagged. “Oh, thank God.”

The turning gears short-circuited. “What?”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been in love with you.”

Zazzalil spluttered. “I’m sorry?”

“You don’t have to be sorry, Zazz--”

“--No, it’s okay.” Zazzalil hadn’t realized that she’d started crying, but the tears on her cheeks said she had. “I’m okay.” At least, she thought she was. She didn’t feel like she was dying. She felt pretty fantastic, actually. “This is just… a lot.”

Jemilla laughed weakly through her own tears.

She wasn’t sure which of them initiated. Perhaps the mark connected them mentally somehow, and they both thought of it at the same time. Whatever the case, they both lunged for the other at the same time, arms wrapping over backs and heads leaning into shoulders. Only then did the real tears started to come. The muffled sobs. Jemilla was a good rock, rubbing Zazzalil’s back as she cried.

“I’m sorry,” she hiccupped, finally able to stop crying long enough to get the words out.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” Jemilla said soothingly, patting Zazzalil on the back. “I’d rather you let it out than hold it in.”

Zazzalil laughed through her tears. “Thanks. I don’t mean for the crying, though. I’m sorry if I made you think I don’t want you because of the crying. I do, I think. I mean, hell, I’m into it.”

“I didn’t, but thank you for the sentiment.”

“What?” Zazzalil sat up and looked up at Jemilla, her arms still around Jemilla’s waist. “I’m sorry, but if I found out I was someone’s soulmate and they were suddenly inconsolable I’d be kinda sad.”

Jemilla wiped a tear from Zazzalil’s cheek, smiling. “You said it wasn’t a bad thing. I did my best to trust that you were telling the truth and that you’d explain yourself.” She shrugged, a little helplessly. “I was right. I don’t think it’s a bad thing either, to be clear.”

Zazzalil leaned forward again, her head fitting perfectly under Jemilla’s chin. Jemilla was warm. She smelled like home. “Thank you.”

Jemilla kissed her forehead, and the peaceful intimacy of it made Zazzalil’s heart swell. “Of course.”

Zazzalil could have sat there forever. While the tree's leaves grew flowers, the ice over the lake melted, and she sank to the bottom. She would have happily died at the bottom of that lake if she did it wrapped in Jemilla.

Eventually, Jemilla tilted her head upwards. Zazzalil looked up into her eyes. She could have sworn there was a whole world in her eyes alone. Stars swimming in her pupils. Her cheeks and nose were pink from the cold. It was probably unflattering, but Zazzalil couldn’t tell. Her lips were dry and chapped. Zazzalil realized she was staring at Jemilla’s lips and froze.

“It’s getting cold,” she said, mostly to stop herself from kissing Jemilla.

Jemilla nodded, and, if Zazzalil wasn’t mistaken, looking the slightest bit disappointed. 

The walk back to the house was cold. The sun was starting to set, and it was getting colder the darker it got. Somewhere along the walk, Jemilla had grabbed onto Zazzalil’s arm. Zazzalil squeezed her hand. The gesture made her smile, despite the normality of it. Zazzalil was holding Jemilla’s hand with the mark, while Zazzalil’s was hanging at her side. She liked catching glimpses of it whenever Jemilla’s sleeve slid back.

They were out of the woods, frozen grass crunching beneath their feet. Zazzalil had, at some point, begun leaning on Jemilla’s arm. They were approaching the house in the distance, and she could really appreciate the beauty of the thing she often underestimated. That was when it hit her. 

Zazzalil whipped her sleeve back, staring at her mark in amazement.

“What is it?” Jemilla asked.

“Our marks,” Zazzalil said, awed. “Look at our marks.”

“I see them, Zazz.” She chuckled. “Just hitting you?”

“No. I mean, don’t get me wrong, this is fucking awesome, but look at the shape.”

Jemilla pulled back her own sleeve and examined her mark again. Her eyes widened after a moment and she looked back up at the house. 

Their marks were in the shape of the house.

“Why?” Zazzalil asked, breaking the silence.

Jemilla pulled her sleeve back down, shoving her cold hands into her pockets. “I’m not sure. But, it makes sense, doesn’t it? We’ve spent our whole lives here, we might not have met if it weren’t for the house.”

Zazzalil thought. And it did make sense. Their lives had circulated around the house and the surrounding property for as long as they’d known each other. It made sense, in a weird, backwards sort of way. There were many appropriate words for the situation. Zazzalil settled on; “Huh.”

Jemilla grabbed Zazzalil’s hand again, swinging them back and forth. They didn’t exchange any more words on the topic. It was business as usual. Switch cold, outdoor clothes for warm, many layered pajamas. Work together to get some form of dinner on the table. It wasn’t until halfway through their dessert/hot chocolate that they spoke again, when it wasn’t just to coordinate food or laundry.

“So you really think we’re soulmates?” 

Zazzalil’s voice was soft. She kept her eyes trained on the table, her hands drawing circles into the smoothed wood.

Jemilla put down her mug. “What else do you think we’d be?” she asked, semi-teasing. “ _Friendmates_?”

Zazzalil let herself laugh. She picked her cup back up and took a long drink. “This just feels too good to be true, I guess.”

Jemilla took one of Zazzalil’s hands in her own, her eyes bright. “I know the feeling.”

Zazzalil hummed. “What was it that you said on the lake earlier?”

“What was what?” Jemilla’s eyebrows were raised innocently.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Zazzalil slid closer to Jemilla, regretting the table in between them. “Something about how long you’d been in love with me?”

“Getting confident, are we?”

“You said it, not me.” Zazzalil was never not confident. Except perhaps for that one time whenever Jemilla did something cute.

“Hmm. Maybe it had something to do with me being in love with you?” The smile on Jemilla’s face was no different than the usual smile she shared. Perhaps they’d been in love the whole time. That didn’t seem so ridiculous. Maybe this was just making up for lost time. It certainly felt right. It felt kind of perfect, in a way Zazzalil had never felt the word before.

“That does sound familiar,” Zazzalil said, unable to resist returning the grin. “But you might need to remind me.”

“Remind you?” Jemilla raised a delightful eyebrow. “And how do you suggest I do that?”

Zazzalil knew she was playing dumb, but it was hot anyway. 

She put her mug back down. “You might have to kiss me, I’m sure that’ll jog my memory.”

Jemilla put her own mug down and was around the table quicker than Zazzalil could blink. “Goodness knows we wouldn’t want you to lose that memory.”

Zazzalil stood up to meet Jemilla, her heart pounding, eyes fixed on Jemilla’s lips. “No, we couldn’t have that,” she murmured.

Jemilla smiled, small and thin, but happy all the same. She cupped Zazzalil’s cheek with her warm hand, stroking it with her thumb. She did it with the arm that had the mark on it. 

Zazzalil looked from Jemilla’s lips to her eyes, saw the gentleness and longing in them, and couldn’t resist any longer. She stood on the tips of her toes to push her lips up against Jemilla’s. Jemilla squeaked, startled by the contact with no warning, but didn’t hesitate in kissing back. The hand that wasn’t on Zazzalil’s cheek wrapped around her back, pulling Zazzalil closer. The kiss was nice and soft and sweet and everything Zazzalil had ever imagined it to be. Not that she’d spent time picturing what it would be like to kiss Jemilla.

They only parted to breathe, Zazzalil letting herself fall back into her chair.

“Did that jog your memory?” Jemilla asked, a new look in her eyes.

Zazzalil nodded, half in shock. “Yeah, that did it.”

“Good.” Jemilla smirked. 

Zazzalil swallowed, her throat very dry considering she’d been drinking hot chocolate not five minutes ago. “Could we… do it again?”

Jemilla laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me.”

“Don’t make me regret telling you.”

Zazzalil kissed her again, unable to get enough. It had been _far_ too long. Jemilla giggled at her eagerness, wrapping her arms around Zazzalil. It was just beginning to sink in that she was kissing Jemilla and Jemilla was her soulmate--

Zazzalil parted their lips with a gasp.

“What’s wrong? I’m sorry, was it too much?” Jemilla asked, immediately fussing.

“No.” A beam spread across Zazzalil’s face. “Keeri’s gonna flip.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it happened! they did it.
> 
> credit to my cousin (two-ish at the time) for coming up with "tree tunnel"
> 
> intergalxtic i hope it pleases you to know that i didn't originally have a kiss in this chapter buuut i added it after your comment :)
> 
> thank you for reading!


	10. spring III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> figuring out relationship technicalities. trust is important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've done the math and this fic is 1/4 angst and 3/4 fluff(ish). . . guess which today is? surprise?

The house looked beautiful that spring. Jemilla enlisted Zazzalil’s help in building flower boxes over the winter, and when the snow melted away they planted seeds and put the boxes up. By the time the days were getting longer and hotter, the flowers were in full bloom. It was beautiful.

Zazzalil had started going on walks in the woods. Jemilla had gone with her the first few times, but she mostly went to climb trees, and it made Jemilla nervous seeing her up so high, so she bailed after the first week. 

The fight was stupid. When she thought about it though, it was a miracle they hadn’t gotten into one sooner. They both had strong, sometimes controlling personalities. They both liked to have their way. Neither appreciated being challenged. They just didn’t usually turn it on one another. They didn’t challenge each other if they could help it.

The trouble was, they were strong-minded about different things. Jemilla liked peace and tranquility, knowing what was going to happen and when so she could prepare. Zazzalil was more messy, always flying by the seat of her pants and somehow getting by. With such opposing morals, it was bound to get in their way at some point. Jemilla would just have rather avoided it. She didn’t much like confrontation. That was another difference between them. Zazzalil relished in a good fight, or at least in simple bickering. Jemilla indulged her from time to time, as she could handle banter, but she liked feeling loved more than she liked the barrage of insults.

Keeri was out of town. They were legal adults, and she could come and go as she saw fit. It was fine. Neither of them minded, not really. 

Normally, time without Keeri was a good thing. They had the house to themselves. They had true freedom. 

The problem came when there was nobody to moderate. 

The fight really was pointless. It started pointless, and it ended pointless. The middle was where everything got blown out of proportion.

“I just wish you wouldn’t climb so high,” Jemilla said into her breakfast.

Zazzalil snorted, unconcerned. “Why? It’s just a tree, Jemilla, I’ll be fine.”

Jemilla pursed her lips. “I just worry about you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

The next morning, Zazzalil left bright and early to go on a walk. Jemilla passed the time by working around the house. Cleaning always left her feeling satisfied and all-around nice, so it wasn’t a thing she hated as Zazzalil did. That wasn’t to say she’d forgotten about Zazzalil. The girl was on her mind all day. More specifically, her absence. She didn’t even stop by for lunch. 

Jemilla did her best to assume she’d just gone on a longer walk and started making dinner. It was nearly finished, and the sun was nearly setting when she looked out the window and saw Zazzalil’s figure on the horizon. Zazzalil’s limping figure. _No_.

Jemilla was out the door before she could remember making a break for it, and ran down the steps, running straight to Zazzalil’s side.

“I’m fine,” was the first thing she said.

It was clearly a lie. There were scratches all over her arms, legs, and face, her hands were held in fists by her sides. She was limping, and wincing with every step.

Jemilla was stammering all the way back to the house. She couldn’t manage any words until she was holding the door for Zazzalil as they went inside. “What _happened_?”

Zazzalil grunted. “Slipped.”

“ _SlippedM|_? From where? The ground, or a tree?”

Zazzalil sighed. “I really don’t see how that’s relevant.”

Jemilla gaped at her. “How is it relevant? Zazz, if you fell from a tree you could be seriously injured, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Well, news flash, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” Zazzalil eased herself into a chair. Dinner was painfully silent. Jemilla didn’t want to press the topic, but Zazzalil’s cheek was bleeding.

“If I could just check you out and make sure nothing’s broken-”

“Nothing’s broken.” Zazzalil chewed on her chicken.

“How do you know?” Jemilla demanded, already forgetting her dinner.

“I just know, alright? I know a little about this, trust me.”

Jemilla did trust Zazzalil. She just didn’t trust her in regards to her own wellbeing. “Wouldn’t it help to have a second pair of eyes?”

Zazzalil glared at her above her forkful of food. “No.”

Jemilla only nodded. She returned to her food, swallowing down the concrete without further conversation.

She let it slide until the end of dinner. Zazzalil tried to get up. The moment she put her weight down on the foot she’d been limping on, she fell back into her chair with a curse.  
Jemilla cracked. “Just let me _help_ you.”

“I’ll be _fine_ ,” Zazzalil roared, slamming her fist down on the table. The hand moved back up to shield her face as her shoulders began to shake. Her voice sounded so much weaker. “Dammit, Jemilla.”

Jemilla hated to see her in pain. She was just so goddamn stubborn. Jemilla carefully cleared the dishes around Zazzalil. She cleaned and did the dishes, waiting expectantly to turn around and find Zazzalil sitting at the table, sulking. She put the last dish on the rack and dried her hands. She turned around with an expectant smile, only to find Zazzalil gone. 

“Zazz?” She must not have heard her leave over the water. Jemilla walked out of the kitchen. “Zazzalil?”

Jemilla walked out into the living room, and made out a soft curse. She raised an eyebrow. “Zazz?” She rounded the corner to see Zazzalil struggling to pull herself up the stairs. Jemilla caught her just in time to see Zazzalil slip and, with a soft yelp slide back down the steps.

“Oh my god,” Jemilla rushed to her side. “Are you okay?”

Zazzalil sat up, dusting herself off. “Fine. I’m fine, Jemilla.”

Jemilla scoffed. “You clearly aren’t.”

“I will be.” Zazzalil rolled onto her stomach, and began crawling toward the steps. “Why do you even care?”

 _Fuck it_. Jemilla let the words that had been on her mind since she was twelve spill out of her mouth. “Because I love you, okay? I love you.”

Zazzalil froze at the foot of the steps. “That’s a good reason,” she said, her voice soft.

Jemilla laughed. “Damn right it is. Now. Can I _please_ help you?”

Zazzalil bit her lip. “Yeah, okay.”

“Good.” Jemilla laughed through her tears. She scooped Zazzalil up and carried her up the steps, putting her down on the bed. She walked into the bathroom and returned with alcohol and bandages. “This is going to hurt.”

Zazzalil held her breath as Jemilla dabbed alcohol onto the cut on her cheek. It was annoying, for once, how much Jemilla liked looking at Zazzalil’s face. It was hard to ignore her wide, worried, but so _beautiful_ eyes and focus on the task at hand.

“I see stars in your eyes, you know,” she whispered the words, not quite brave enough to say them aloud.

Zazzalil exhaled as the alcohol bubbled in her cut. “Oh yeah?”

Jemilla nodded. “Uh-huh.” She pressed a bandaid over the cut and moved on to Zazzalil’s neck. “They’ve been there since that time we snuck outside to look at the stars.”

Zazzalil got an absolutely insufferable look on her face. “The _stars_ , huh?”

Jemilla rolled her eyes, a smile spreading across her lips. “You’re terrible.”

“I expect nothing less.” Zazzalil’s teasing expression turned serious. “I’m sorry, by the way.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Jemilla said, shaking her head.

“No.” Zazzalil turned Jemilla’s head to face her. “I do, Jem. I messed up, and I’m sorry.” Jemilla was opening her mouth to protest, but Zazzalil pushed on. “I… I was shutting you out, and I don’t need to do that. Trust is part of a relationship. And I trust you, I do. I’m just not very good at letting people in.”

Jemilla put down her cloth in favor of Zazzalil’s hands. “Thank you for letting me in.”

Zazzalil shrugged. “I guess if I had to trust someone, it’d be you."

“So… if we’re going to be trusting… what happened?” Jemilla picked her alcohol back up and started dabbing at one of the cuts on Zazzalil’s arms.

She sighed, frowning at the memory. “I wasn’t even that high. There was just some dumbass squirrel that startled me, and I fell.”

Jemilla pursed her lips.

“I was being careful, I promise.”

She cracked a smile. “While I appreciate that reminder, that’s not what I was thinking.”

Zazzalil cocked an eyebrow. “No?”

“No. I was just thinking maybe I should go with you next time.”

“Jem, you don’t have to do that. I know it makes you nervous to see me up there.”

“I know.” Jemilla bit her lip. “But after today I know that it makes me more nervous to not know where you are, if you’re okay or not.”

Zazzalil melted. “You’re adorable.”

“So I can come next time?”

“You don’t even have to climb if you don’t want to,” Zazzalil agreed, grinning. “Moral support. And physical support, if this ever happens again.”

 _Moral support_. Jemilla could get behind that.

“I love you too, you know.” Zazzalil’s expression was soft, but teasing. More reflective, than anything else. Like she’d been thinking the words but just realized she’d forgotten to say them.

Jemilla’s eyes widened. She tried to pretend that her entire body wasn’t short circuiting.

“I mean, I meant it, but I wasn’t expecting that big of a reactio-”

Jemilla cut her off with her lips. Make-up kissing was nice, she decided, although the fighting part of it could be cut in favor of getting along any day. There was a sweetness to the kiss, an apology that words couldn’t carry, that Jemilla could feel in the way that Zazzalil’s lips pressed against hers, and that was something she could get used to.

There was a lot Jemilla was willing to do, just to keep this feeling forever. The feeling of Zazzalil’s cool hand on her cheek. The feeling of hairs escaping Zazzalil’s ponytail that brushed against Jemilla’s forehead. The feeling of Zazzalil’s lips pressed up against her own. The feeling in her chest, all over her body. So this was love.

Love was pretty good, if this was it.

Jemilla rose, Zazzalil’s back hitting the bed, Jemilla on top of her. Jemilla’s leg accidentally brushed Zazzalil’s twisted ankle, and she grunted in pain.

Jemilla let go, eyes wide in panic. “Sorry!”

Zazzalil laughed, her cheeks pink. “I love you.”

They said the words all night. They felt nice in Jemilla’s mouth. It felt nice hearing them from Zazzalil’s. She didn’t think she’d ever get tired of hearing them. Not from Zazzalil. Not ever. The high of kissing her soulmate was one Jemilla didn’t think she would ever grow tired of or crave a higher dose of. She couldn’t imagine anyone else making her feel the way Zazzalil did. And that was the way she liked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it ended happy, so at least there's that? if anything, rest easy knowing that's all the angst. that's it there is no more. only fluff from here on out.
> 
> merry christmas (eve)!
> 
> thank you for reading :)


	11. summer III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a summer jemilla and zazz are bound to remember for the rest of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was going to say we had another long chapter today. then i remembered that chapter 9 is four thousand words and this is NOT 4k words. so... we got a medium length chapter today. it's exciting, at the very least. and fluffy with happy but strong emotions. you'll see hehe.

Summer had always been Zazzalil’s favorite season. Summer looked beautiful on the house, especially with the green paint, the only color she could remember seeing on it. The flowers were in bloom, the days were long, the orchards were getting ripe. It was paradise, really. It was the only home she had ever known. Jemilla said it was the first real home she’d ever had.

Summer was a good season for a proposal. That was what Keeri said. Zazzalil had never been good at listening to Keeri, so she’d proposed in winter. Jemilla had said yes anyway, crying the whole time. She did have her reasoning. Why propose in summer when she could get married in summer instead?

They both wore dresses. They’d discussed it. They both liked dressing up, and came to the decision that they didn’t care for tradition. That specific tradition, anyway. Jemilla liked some of them. Zazzalil could respect that. She supposed it was nice to have _some_ order.

One tradition they followed, for example, was white. Zazzalil was wearing the white dress. She felt like a princess in it. It was a good dress. She had offered the white to Jemilla, but Jemilla insisted Zazzalil take it. She said she preferred seeing Zazzalil in it anyway. Zazzalil couldn’t argue with that.

Jemilla had had the idea to use flowers from their own gardens. It was a good idea, Zazzalil had to admit. Picking her own bouquet was something she never wanted to forget. She would never admit it to anyone, but she’d even cried seeing Jemilla get so excited to pick her flowers. 

Keeri had the idea that picking their flowers together should be the last time they saw each other the night before. They were dressed casually. They had no reason to do otherwise. Zazzalil had been ready for an hour when the time came. She’d been sitting in a tree since early that afternoon, thinking. Wondering if being married was really any different than not being married but still being in love. She sat in the tree another ten minutes once the time passed. She was normally late, and figured it would be rather symbolic of their whole relationship to show up late. She knew it would make Jemilla laugh. She also knew Jemilla was standing at the porch, where they’d agreed to meet. That was why it was so hard to resist the urge to climb down and go running straight into her arms.

She was right that Jemilla laughed to see Zazzalil emerging from the woods ten minutes after the agreed time. 

“Shall we?” she asked, linking their hands.

Zazzalil sighed, comforted by Jemilla’s presence. “Yes.” She began skipping down to the garden. “Let’s go kill some innocent flowers.”

Jemilla’s laughter echoed behind her.

Flower picking was nice. They decided at some point to pick one another’s bouquet’s. It was a soothing thought. To be able to hold something Jemilla had made for her while she walked down the aisle while she couldn’t hold Jemilla.

They picked flowers slowly, trying to drag out the time before they had to go inside and part ways. Zazzalil liked the idea of “not seeing the bride before the wedding”, but only now was it hitting her that that meant she had to say goodbye to Jemilla. It was just one night. It still made her a little sad.

They managed to stretch out their flower picking until the sun had fully set, and stars were starting to appear in the sky.

“Who knew,” Zazzalil said, watching Jemilla pick a white rose. She arched an eyebrow, turning to Zazzalil expectantly. She nodded up at the sky. “That it would start all of this.”  
Jemilla handed Zazzalil the clippers. “What, you think the sky is the foundation to our relationship?”

Zazzalil shrugged, clipping a few stems of what Jemilla called baby’s breath. The name sounded strange to her. Jemilla said it was because of the scent. Zazzalil said that was weird, and Jemilla agreed. “I mean, kinda. You say you see stars in my eyes.” Jemilla didn’t disagree. “Maybe you see them because you first fell in love with me outside under the stars.”

“The stars are always out there somewhere,” Jemilla said, running a hand along Zazzalil’s back. It wasn’t anything sexual. Just fond intimacy. “Even if we can’t see them. I think that’s why. You’re always there, even if I can’t see you.”

Zazzalil smiled. “That’s nice. I like that.”

Jemilla gently hip-checked her. “Thanks. Now give me the clippers so I can pick you some primrose.”

Zazzalil handed over the clippers. She did like primrose.

They ended the night on the porch swing. Neither of them wanted to go inside.

“It’s just a few hours,” Jemilla said. She sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince Zazzalil.

“What if we just don’t go inside?”

“How do you mean?”

“Keeri can’t stop us from falling asleep outside together, can she?”

Jemilla thought about that. A smile crept across her face. “She can’t.”

So they got comfortable. Zazzalil thought it would be worth it if she had a sore back for her wedding if she got to sleep outside with Jemilla. She nestled into Jemilla’s side, and closed her eyes.

She didn’t open them again until Keeri was shaking her awake the next morning. Jemilla was gone, probably hidden away getting ready in one of the house’s rooms.

“Up,” Keeri was muttering. “You have to get up.”

For once, Zazzalil didn’t mind the early hour. She sat right up, and followed Keeri inside without complaint.

It was a morning filled with digesting heavy information. She sat before the mirror, eyes wide with no words to share. Keeri had supposedly gotten Jemilla as far along as was necessary, and had moved on to getting Zazzalil ready. 

Heavy information was mostly: she was going to be _married_ to _Jemilla_. _Jemilla_ was going to be her _wife_. _She_ was going to be _Jemilla’s_ wife. Damn.

Zazzalil sat in silence as Keeri pulled the dress around her, did her hair, and played with a little makeup.

“Any final unmarried wisdom?” she asked, helping Zazzalil into her heels.

She shook her head. “Holy _shit_.”

Keeri laughed. “That sounds about right.”

The guest list was short. They didn’t have very many people they wanted to invite. The only person Zazzalil really wanted to invite to her wedding was Jemilla, but, _holy shit_ , she was already invited. Keeri was coming, and Zazzalil had extended an invitation to a few people in town she’d been close to when she was younger. The old bakery couple, Grunt and Emberly, who she’d finally learned the proper names of, now that she wasn’t four and illiterate. It was a custom for someone who had a soulmate to perform the ceremony to marry soulmates. Grunt and Emberly were the only other soulmate set Jemilla and Zazzalil knew, so they offered. Grunt and Emberly seemed touched, and accepted the offer.

Keeri knew a woman who could play the violin, her name was Tiblyn. She had agreed to play for the wedding, on the condition that she got to attend. Zazzalil wasn’t sure how one could play for the event and not go to it, so they agreed.

Keeri left for a nerve-wracking ten minutes. When she returned, it was with a soft smile and the bouquet Jemilla had picked the night before. Zazzalil gripped the flowers like a lifeline. Keeri led her down the stairs and to the front door. 

“Are you ready?”

Zazzalil had never been more sure of anything. She was by no means ready to walk out that door, but she was ready to be married to Jemilla. She nodded.

Keeri was crying by the time she gestured for Zazzalil to follow her outside. Tiblyn had started playing something soft. Emberly was sitting cross legged in the grass below the arch they had placed outside. Grunt was standing at the bottom of the steps and off to the side, camera in hand. Then there was Jemilla. She’d said that Zazzalil should wear the white dress since she’d look better in it, but _damn_ Jemilla looked good in blue. 

She was standing a little in front of the arch, clutching her bouquet, eyes locked on Zazzalil. Zazzalil had seen the dress on her before, so she didn’t expect to be as taken aback as she was. She smiled a soft smile that was reserved for Jemilla, letting Keeri take her arm and begin the slow walk down the “aisle” which was the path from the house to the driveway. 

Zazzalil watched Jemilla the whole time, shocked that she seemed to be getting closer when Zazzalil couldn’t feel her feet moving. She felt as though she were hovering off the ground, walking in the air, although that could have just been the heels.

Before she knew it, Jemilla was within reach. Zazzalil handed her bouquet to Keeri to hold Jemilla’s hand. She could hear Emberly talking in a very distant part of her brain, which was muffled and quite echo-ey. Her eyes were locked on Jemilla. When the time came, Jemilla fished a ring out of her bouquet and held it out. Hand shaking, Zazzalil let her slide the ring onto it. Keeri handed her the ring from her own bouquet. Jemilla started to cry, tears sliding down her cheeks as she bit her lip to keep from beaming.

Zazzalil put the ring on Jemilla’s finger. Jemilla said the words. The two words that Zazzalil never would have thought could equate to ‘ _i love you_ ’. They didn’t, but they came pretty damn close. Then, when the time came, she said them back. She meant it. She did want to be with Jemilla, in sickness and in health, to have and to hold, all that sappy bullshit that she hated.

Then Emberly released them, and their lips met. The kiss was a little salty, as they were both crying, but Zazzalil wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Dinner was quiet. Keeri insisted that Tiblyn, Grunt, and Emberly go with her into town just as soon as she was finished cooking up a feast for two. It was by no means traditional. Jemilla and Zazzalil were both happier for it. Grunt promised to send them the pictures once they could be printed out.

That seemed to excite Jemilla, and therefore it excited Zazzalil, but she didn’t care much. She was satisfied with the memories.

“Okay.” Zazzalil cleared her throat, looking at the wrinkled piece of paper in her hand. The wrinkles were from all the times she’d folded and refolded it in her preparation anxiety. They’d decided to do vows. It wasn’t always a thing soulmates did. People agreed that the promise was in the mark. Jemilla, however, was A Speech Person, and Zazzalil agreed that words would be nice. They only made one slight adjustment. Vows were made that night, alone in their bedroom.

“Jemilla. First, I want to say I love you. I don’t think anything you could do ever would make me not love you.” Zazzalil looked down at her paper with trembling hands. “Ever since I was little, I had a lot of questions. Most of them were about soulmates. Keeri was very good at dodging them. She did give me a few answers, though. She described soulmates as a missing piece. I hear a lot of people who don’t have soulmates call soulmates your ‘missing half’. But Jemilla, you’re so much more than half. You’re a whole person, and for some reason, some means of fate decided that your whole person matched mine. People also describe soulmates' first meeting as ‘just clicked’. I don’t think we clicked, but I think we came as close to it as two seven-year-olds can come.” Zazzalil’s tongue felt swollen in her mouth. She was trying to wipe away the tears as fast as they were coming, which was a futile fight. Jemilla was watching in loving silence, her own piece of paper twisted in her hands.

“I really just want to say that I love you. All of you. Even on the rare occasion that you annoy me, or I’m mad at you, I still love you. I want you to know that, because I think that as long as you know that and do the same, we can get through this.”

She put her paper down with a shaky sigh. 

Jemilla raised an eyebrow. “This?”

“Don’t critique my emotional shit speech,” Zazzalil groaned. “You know what I mean. Life.”

Jemilla smiled. “I love you too.” She paused, then unfolded her own paper. “Zazzalil. I remember a lot of things about you. Ever since we were little kids. I would remember things about you I couldn’t remember about myself, and I would wonder why. I remember the first time we met you told me your name was Elizabeth, but you’d have to kill me if I ever called you that. I also remember that the time I did call you Elizabeth you let it slide and said you loved me.”

Zazzalil scoffed, but said nothing.

Jemilla looked from her paper and back at Zazzalil. “I remember that you love climbing trees. I remember that you love hot chocolate; and couldn't care less if it seems childish. I remember to always bring you an extra jacket, because you will die of hypothermia claiming you aren’t cold. Most of all, I remember that I love you.

Her eyes softened. “I remember that I love you, and that we somehow got lucky enough to have this.” she gestured at her wrist with her mark. “I remember the stars. The stars that are always up above, even when we can’t see them. It doesn’t really matter that I can’t see the stars during the day, because the stars in your eyes are much prettier. That’s what this love is like. I might not be saying it, but it’s always on my mind. You’re always on my mind.” Jemilla sighed. “Frankly, it’s a pretty great feeling. So, thank you. For letting me experience it, and for returning it.”

Jemilla put her paper down. “Was that okay?” She asked. “I kept making changes, and I wasn’t sure if-”

Zazzalil tackled her in a hug, their papers dropping forgotten on the bed. Jemilla’s clothes were getting wet with Zazzalil’s tears.

“What’s wrong?”

Zazzalil shook her head, wrapping her arms around Jemilla. “I love you.”

Jemilla smiled. Rubbed Zazzalil’s back until she could talk again.

“That was a good speech,” was the first thing she said.

“Really? I thought you didn’t like it.”

Zazzalil was opening her mouth to protest when she realized Jemilla was joking. She smiled instead, pulling Jemilla’s arm to lie down with her. “I love you.”

Jemilla kissed her forehead. “I love you too.”

“Damn right you do.” Zazzalil let the emotional silence stir for a few minutes more, until she couldn't take it anymore. “It’s our wedding night, and Keeri specifically told us she was spending the night at Emberly and Grunt's.”

Jemilla outright laughed. “Is that your subtle way of hinting?”

“I never said I was being subtle or hinting,” Zazzalil protested. “But yeah.”

Apparently Jemilla couldn’t say no to that, because she got right down to business in pressing her lips to Zazzalil's. And while Zazzalil hadn’t thought it possible, her wedding got better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was a FOOL and thought i could edit without tears.


	12. autumn III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> epilogue, basically

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asked my mom for shitty sex analogies and 'blowing bubbles' is what she came up with, so enjoy that

She had been restless all night. She’d fallen asleep briefly, carried away in Zazzalil’s insistence that sleep would solve her feeling of unrest. She’d woken up barely an hour later, tangled in Zazzalil, perfectly content and sleepy. But she was still awake after an hour, just wrapped in her soulmate. The moon shone through the curtains, illuminating the room. Zazzalil was wrapped around her, head nuzzled into Jemilla’s chest. Jemilla didn’t think she’d ever see her as anything other than stunning. She just looked more peaceful asleep. No picking fights, or smug smirking. It was strange, and Jemilla felt unnerved by the lack of emotion.

She slipped out of Zazzalil’s grasp and out into the hallway. It was soothing to see the faint lights beneath the two cracked doors. Walking into the first room, seeing the still, slowly rising chest of the figure in the crib was more soothing still.

The hospital had called a week ago. Zazzalil had been the one to answer it, one hand stirring lunch in a pot, answering the phone with the other. She’d turned around sharply to Jemilla after only a moment, eyes wide. The look on her face said it all.

_It happened again._

Jemilla looked down at the small child in her arms. He’d turned three last week, and was astounding her every day. He would have had nowhere to go. The hospital was running out of places to turn to when Jemilla and Zazzalil caught wind of him. Being a parent--a _mother_ \--was never something Jemilla saw herself as being, given her lack of a strong parental figure growing up.

But hearing about that poor abandoned baby… she knew how it felt to be unwanted. Zazzalil did too, if in a different way. The least they could do was take care of him until he found a better place to stay. Then a year passed, and they agreed that there was no better place.

Jemilla nodded.

A woman had come to the house later that day, seeming shocked that a house as ‘prestigious’ and a family as rich as the Kanes would want a child that wasn’t of their own blood. Zazzalil had assured her that ‘blood’ didn’t matter much to them, eyes twinkling as she looked at Jemilla. The woman had given them a file on the child, which they went through that night.

They’d brought her home the next day. He’d taken it reasonably well, considering the last minute nature of the whole thing. 

They’d put up the nightlight in the baby’s room at his insistence. He said it was only common sense that the baby got one too, just as he had gotten one upon his arrival. Neither Jemilla nor Zazzalil had had the heart to tell him that the baby couldn’t really tell the difference between sleeping with a nightlight or sleeping without one. It was easy enough, so they went into town and let him pick one out for his new sister.

Jemilla smiled fondly at the star-shaped lantern. It made sense, in a way, that a child she and Zazzalil were raising would take a liking to something star-related, given their tendencies to come up with long and over-elaborate star-related compliments.

There was a rustling sound a door down. Suspicion piqued, Jemilla cracked open the door to his room a bit more. His eyes were open, stretched out across his bed and looking rather bored. He got excited when he saw Jemilla, sitting up and bouncing his legs. There was no point in hiding now.

“Hey, buddy,” Jemilla said, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “What are you doing up?”

He shrugged. “Bad sleeping.”

Jemilla nodded. “I’ve been having a hard time sleeping, too. We should get back to bed though, okay?”

He settled onto her lap. “Story.”

“Story?” Jemilla chuckled.

“Story,” he repeated, solemn.

“Alright.” Jemilla lifted her son off her lap and back onto his own bed, laying him down and tucking him under the covers. He ruined the tucking somewhat to settle against her side. She couldn’t complain on that front. “What do you want to hear a story about?”

He looked at her, caution somewhere in his young gaze. “What’s soulmates?”

Jemilla raised her eyebrows, amused. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Everywhere.” He stated it plainly. A fact of life.

“You want to hear a story about soulmates?”

He nodded, pleased with her going along with whatever his plan was.

“Okay.” Jemilla exhaled, lifting her feet up onto his bed, leaning back into the bed frame. “Mommy and I are soulmates, did you know that?”

His voice was awed. “No.”

Jemilla cupped his cheek in her hand. “She’s pretty great. Do you want to hear a story about us?”

“Yes!”

“Perfect. I know just the one.” Jemilla cleared her throat. “Once upon a time, in a house not all that long ago, there lived a young girl. She lived all alone in the great big house with nobody but her nanny. Her name was Elizabeth, and she was in desperate need of a friend.”

“Elizabeth isn’t you or mommy,” he complained.

Jemilla smiled. “We’re getting there. One day, another little girl came to visit. Her name was Jemilla.”

He gasped, recognizing the name. “You.”

“Yes,” Jemilla said, laughing. “You got it. Jemilla and Elizabeth became good friends, and Elizabeth got comfortable enough to share her nickname with Jemilla. Zazz.” The name left her mouth fondly from years of use. “Eventually, Jemilla came up with another name for Zazz. Zazzalil.” 

“Mommy!” He squirmed in his bed.

“Yup.” Jemilla rubbed the arm she had around him. “The name stuck, and Elizabeth became Zazzalil.” Jemilla kept talking, spinning up words about her and Zazzalil’s friendship, their younger days, intense snowball fights, tree climbing adventures, ice skating. She left out dead parents. That could wait for a later conversation, when he was older. He fell asleep somewhere around ice skating. Jemilla wasn’t exactly sure when he’d drifted off.

She just knew that she looked down at some point and found his eyes closed, chest rising and steadily falling. Jemilla smiled, and kissed his forehead.

“Goodnight, baby.” Jemilla sat in his bed, making little circles in his blankets with her fingers, humming a lullaby under her breath. She felt more generally at peace with the world, but couldn’t quite bring herself to get to her feet and go back to bed. The minutes passed, and Jemilla sat on his bed, stroking the hair on his forehead, and she was pretty sure that she could stay there all night, so naturally that was when she heard the crying. 

It came from the baby’s room, because _of course it did_ , and Jemilla got up from the bed with an internal groan. She kissed his forehead once more for good measure and made sure he was tucked in the way he liked, making sure to leave his door cracked the slightest bit as she left. No need for Zazzalil to get up and soothe the baby when Jemilla was already awake.

The door creaked as Jemilla entered the nursery, where she could no longer hear crying. “Babe?” 

Zazzalil looked up from the baby cradled in her arms, smiling at the sight of Jemilla in the doorway. “I found you.”

“Were you looking?” Jemilla asked, walking up behind Zazzalil and wrapping her arms around her.

Zazz shrugged. “I woke up and you were gone, and you weren’t with the baby, so you were either in his room or you were being murdered in the woods. This was the more likely option,” she said. “Then the baby started fussing, and here you are.”

Jemilla smiled. Looked down at the baby in Zazzalil’s arms, who was no longer fussing and very nearly asleep. “Here I am.”

“‘Sleeping it off’ didn’t work, then?” She asked, looking a little guilty.

“No, not really,” Jemilla admitted. “I think I feel better, though.”

Zazzalil looked up, eyes a little brighter. “Yeah?”

Jemilla nodded. “Yeah.” She did feel better. The small weight of anxiety that had been on her chest, the little voice saying this wasn’t real, it was gone. “I love you.”

Zazzalil raised an eyebrow, smiling but looking surprised by the affection. “I love you, too, Jem. Like, a lot. It’s embarrassing sometimes, how much I love you.” She put the baby back down in the crib, her eyes shut, her breathing steady, unflinching as Zazzalil’s hands left her skin. Zazzalil exchanged the feeling for Jemilla’s hands, leaning into Jemilla’s side with a sigh. “I missed you.”

Jemilla led Zazzalil back toward their bedroom, her grin widening. “It’s only been a few minutes.”

Zazzalil shrugged with one shoulder. “Still.”

Jemilla climbed back into their bed, hands tangled in Zazzalil’s.

“Do you know how many people can make me blush?” Zazzalil continued. “Not a lot. Keeri can, sometimes, when she uses ‘blowing bubbles’ when she refers to us fucking.” Jemilla wrinkled her nose. “But other than that, it’s just you when you do cute shit. That’s love, you know?”

Yeah. Jemilla did know. She kissed Zazzalil again.

“I love you.”

Zazzalil’s cheeks reddened, even as she returned the kiss. “Shit like that,” she said once they’d parted.

Jemilla sighed contentedly and closed her eyes, wrapped in her soulmate. The sound of her breathing and the feeling of her beating heart was enough to send Jemilla back into sleep. Sleep she remained in until the next day came and the sun rose. 

The house sat alone atop the hill, the surrounding grounds made up of woods, orchards, and garden. The walls had recently been repainted blue, a color that reminded its inhabitants less of sadder times. Zazzalil claimed she was reconnecting with her roots; Jemilla knew the old color unnerved her and couldn’t say she disagreed. Blue suited the house anyway, and it didn’t blend in with the grass and trees in summer anymore. The porch swing got daily use at that point, being one of their son's favorite features the house could offer. Zazzalil had hung up a set of windchimes for each person in the house. Keeri got an honorary set of windchimes, and the five sets made quite a ruckus when the wind got strong.

The house sat alone atop the great hill, yet it had never been more full.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and scene. we made it!!
> 
> as always, thank you for reading, thank you for being here :)


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